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[shameless 

5 WAYNE 

Z ^^0 mance of the last Feud of 
h Wayne and Ratcliffe 

\ ‘Byy 

^ Halliwell Sutcliffe 

i Author ^^^Ricroft of Withens,” Man 

S of the Moors,” etc. 


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^ WiRr iRr iBt ifif iflf iR?ifiPWiW%c%t 

^ NEWYORK ^ 

DODD, MEAD ^ COMPANY g 

§ * 8 9 9 5 




4/074 

Copyright 1899 
by 

Dodd, Mead & Company 


TWO COPIES RECEIVED, 



*5 V -*33 . 



Contents 


CHAPTER 



PAGE 

1 . 

Once for a Death 

. 

I 

II. 

And Twice for the Slayer’s Shrift 

. 

14 

III. 

The Lean Man of Wild water . 

. 

25 

IV. 

On Bog-hole Brink 


50 

V. 

A Love-tryst . 

. 

64 

VI. 

The Brown Dog’s Step 

. 

73 

VII. 

The Lean Man’s Token 

. 

88 

VIII. 

A Stormy Burial . 

. 

100 

IX. 

A Moorside Courtship . 


113 

X. 

What Crossed the Garden-path . 

. 

135 

XI. 

How THE Ratcliffes Rode Out by Stealth 

147 

XII. 

How They Fared Back to Wild water 

158 

XIII. 

April Snow 

. 

169 

XIV. 

How Wayne and Ratcliffe Met at 

Hazel 



Brigg 

. 

184 

XV. 

Mother-wit 

. 

201 

XVI. 

How Wayne of Marsh Rode up to 

Bents 

207 

XVII. 

The Dog-dread 

• 

224 

XVIII. 

The Feud-wind Freshens 


230 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER pjjOE 

XIX. How Wayne Kept the Pinfold . . 240 

XX. How They Waited at the Boundary-stone 256 

XXI. What Chanced at Wildwater . . 265 

XXII. And What Chanced at Marsh . 273 

XXIll. How Wayne Kept Faith . . . 288 

XXIV. How THE Lean Man Fought With Shameless 

Wayne .... ^oi 

XXV. And How He Drank With Him . 312 

XXVI. Mistress Wayne Fares up to Wildwater 325 
XXVII. How the Lean Man Forgot the Feud 537 


Shameless Wayne 


CHAPTER I 

ONCE FOR A DEATH 

The little old woman sat up in the belfry tower, knitting a 
woollen stocking and tolling the death bell with her foot. She 
took two and seventy stitches between each stroke of the bell, 
and not the church-clock itself could reckon a minute more 
truly. Sharp of face she was, the Sexton’s wife, and her lips 
were forever moving in time to the click of her knitting- 
needles. 

“ By th’ Heart, ’tis little care his wife hed for him,” she 
muttered presently. ‘‘Nobbut a poor half-hour o’ th’ bell, 
an’ him wi’ a long, cold journey afore him. Does she think 
a man’s soul can racket up to Heaven at that speed ? Mebbe 
’tis her pocket she cares for — two-an’-sixpence, an’ him a 
Wayne! One o’ th’ proud Waynes o’ Marsh, an’ all, th’ 
best-born folk i’ th’ moorside. Well, there’s men an’ there’s 
men, mostly wastrils, but we mud weel hev spared another 
better nor Anthony Wayne, that we could.” 

Her voice died down again, though her lips still moved and 
her needles chattered restlessly. The wind raced over the 
moor and in at the rusty grating, and twice the Sexton’s wife 
ceased knitting to brush away a cobweb, wind-driven against 
her cheek. 

An’ him to hev no more nor a half-hour’s tolling, poor 
mortal ! ” she said, breaking a long pause. What ’ull he do 
when he gets to th’ Gate, an’ th’ bell hes stopped tolling, an’ 
there’s no Christian music to waft him in ? But theer ! What 
did I say o’ th’ wife when Anthony Wayne went an’ wedded 
again — a lass no older nor his own daughter, an’ not Marsh- 

I 


2 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


cotes bred nawther. Nay, there’s no mak o’ gooid in ’t — 
two-an’-sixpence to buy a man’s soul God-speed, there niver 
war ony gooid i’ bringing furriners to Marshcotes. Little, 
milkblooded wench as she is, not fit to stand up agen a pulF o’ 
wind. Well, I’ve a’most done wi’ th’ ringing — save I war to 
gi’e him another half-hour for naught, sin’ he war a thowt 
likelier nor th’ rest o’ th’ men-folk.” 

The little old woman smiled mirthlessly. For folk ac- 
counted her sharp of tongue and hard of heart, and she would 
never have done as much for any but a Wayne of Marsh 
House. Silence fell once again on the belfry tower, broken 
only by the click-click of the needles, the creak of the rope, 
the subdued thunder of the bell, the wailing frenzy of the 
wind as it drove the hailstones against the black old walls. 

Eerie as the night was in the belfry, it was wilder yet in 
the bleak kirkyard without, free to the moor as it was, and 
full of corners where the wind hid itself to pipe a shriller note 
than it could compass in the open. The wind, a moon three- 
quarters full, a sky close packed with rain and sleet, fought 
hard together ; and now the moon gained a moment’s victory, 
shimmering ghostly grey across the wet tombstones ; and now 
the scudding wrack prevailed, hiding the moon outright. The 
sodden winter leaves were lifted from the mould, and danced 
to the tune of the raindrops pattering upward from the tomb- 
stones. 

A figure crossed the moor and halted awhile at the church- 
yard gate — a slim figure, of a lissom strength and upright car- 
riage which marked her as a Wayne of Marsh House. Like 
a sapling ash the girl had swayed and bent to the hurricane as 
she fought her way through the storm ; but all that the wind 
could do it had done, and had left her unbroken — breathless 
only, and glad of the gate’s support for a moment. 

The moon drove through the cloud-wrack as she stood 
there, lighting each shadowed hollow of her face. There was 
tenderness in her eyes, but tears were drawn like a veil across 
them ; there was softness in the mouth, but pride and resolve 
hid all save the sterner lines. She turned her head quickly 
toward the belfry as the clang of the death-bell struck through 
the storm-din of the larger strife ; and then she hid her face in 
her two strong hands, and sofibed as wildly as ever the wind 
could do. And after that she went forward, through the gate, 


ONCE FOR A DEATH 


3 

up the narrow path, past the great stone, with the iron rings 
on either side, which hid the burial vault of the Waynes. 

‘‘ Not there, father ! They will never leave you out there 
for ever,” she whispered — you who were so strong yesterday, 
so full of the warmth of life. God, God, if You were made 
after our fashion, as men say. You would raise him from the 
dead. How the blood dripped, dripped from the little hole in 
his side. Oh, God, be merciful ! Say that the wind has blown 
my wits away — say that all this is ” 

She checked herself. Her passion died out, leaving her 
bitterly calm as the graves she lingered by. 

‘‘ Nay, there is no mercy, nor shall be,” said she. 

‘‘No mercy — no mercy,” yelled the wind, as it howled 
across the moor and in through the kirkyard hedge. 

The girl was comforted in some sort, it seemed, by the 
tempest’s devilry. She turned from the vault and moved with 
a firm step to the foot of the church-tower; one hand had 
stolen to her girdle, and as the bell’s note shuddered down the 
wind-beats once again, her fingers tightened round the knife- 
hilt. 

“ A drear neet for th’ owd Maister,” the Sexton’s wife was 
crooning to herself, as she knitted her stocking in the belfry 
tower above. “ ’Tis a cold journey an’ a long he’s bound for, 
an’ he’ll feel th’ lack o’ flesh-warmth ; ay, poor body ! I 
could hev wished his soul fairer weather.” 

Up the crooked stair, worn by a half-score generations, 
passed Nell Wayne, with her brave carriage and her pitiless 
face. The Sexton’s wife dropped a stitch of her knitting as 
she heard the door open ; and her heart went pit-a-pat, for 
it was a fit night for ghosts. 

“ Oh, ’tis ye. Mistress, is’t ? ” she grumbled, soon as she 
saw it was no ghost at all, but just Nell Wayne of Marsh. 

The girl looked at her awhile in silence, as if the crabbed 
figure, working busily with hand and foot by the light of a 
rush candle, were dear to her at such a time. 

“ Well, then, what hes brought ye through th’ storm ? ” 
said the little woman. “ I warrant ’tis easier to lig between 
sheets nor to cross th’ moor to-neet.” 

“ There’s no ease, Nanny, save in fighting the storm,” cried 
the girl. “ Could I rest quiet at Marsh House, think’st thou, 
knowing what lies there ? ” 


4 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


Nay, for th’ wind rapped hard at th’ windows an’ called 
ye out ; ye war iver th’ storm’s bairn,” said Nanny, chuckling 
grimly. 

“ I came to ask thee to give father a longer passing than his 
wife is like to have seen to. Here is my purse, Nanny — take 
what thou wilt so long as his soul is cared for.” 

Ay, there was heart in the Sexton’s wife, for all her rough 
pilgrimage through life. She knew, now for the first time, 
how deep her love went for this daughter of the Waynes ; and 
even as she pushed away the money, with impatient protest, 
her voice broke and her eyes filled with tears. 

‘‘ Dearie,” she whispered, coming close to the girl’s side and 
putting a lean arm about her. Dearie, ye must not look like 
that. Ye’re ower young to let all Hell creep into your face — 
ower young, I tell ye — an’ I should know, seeing I nursed ye 
fro’ being a two-year babby.” 

Over young ! Nay, a woman can never be over young to 
learn God’s lesson, Nanny. ’Tis fight at our birth — poor 
woman’s sort of struggle, with tears — and fight through the 
summer days when the very skies strive against the seed-crops 
that should keep our bodies quick — and fight again, when win- 
ter rails at the house walls, trying to batter them in.” 

“ Hev a kindlier thowt o’ God,” cried the other eagerly — 
more eagerly, it may be, than her own faith warranted. Put 
th’ father out o’ mind sooin as th’ sorrow grows a bit more 
dumb-like, an’ think on a likely man’s love an’ th’ bairns to 
come.” 

“ What art doing, Nanny ? The bell has been silent these 
five minutes past,” cried the girl. It was strange to see how 
grief had altered her — to mark how peremptory and harsh of 
voice she had grown, how little she seemed to care for aught 
save for such matters as concerned her father, whose body was 
lying cold and stiff in the oak-lined hall at Marsh, whose soul 
was journeying wearily toward an unsubstantial Heaven. Yet 
the superstition of her folk held her, and the bell’s silence was 
a horror near akin to crime, since it robbed the dead man of 
whatever cheer the next world held. 

The Sexton’s wife said nothing at all, but took up her knit- 
ting and slid her foot into the loop of the bell-rope. Nell 
Wayne leaned against the rotting woodwork of the door, and 
fingered the dagger that lay beneath her cloak, and fancied 


ONCE FOR A DEATH 


5 


that every jar of the bell was a blow well driven home. The 
Sexton’s wife glanced shrewdly at her, as if in fear of this 
still, strenuous mood. 

Better talk to a body, my dear ; ’twill drive th’ devils out,” 
she said. 

As one awakening from a trance, Nell moved forward and 
laid a hand on the other’s shoulder. Her calm was gone ; she 
quivered from head to foot. “Wast talking of love, and 
bairns to come ? ” she said. “ Love Ay, to see your lover 
killed before your eyes. And bairns ? Must the mothers rear 
up the wee things, that never did them harm, to suffer and to 
curse the God that made them ? — Nanny, I know who struck 
the blow.” 

The Sexton’s wife lifted her face sharply. Ay, so 
’Twill be gooid news for somebody to hear — your uncle, belike, 
or one o’ th’ Long Waynes o’ Cranshaw.” 

“ Kinship is well enough, Nanny — but ’twill not carry this 
last feud. Has Wayne of Marsh no children, that his quar- 
rel needs go abroad to be righted ? ” 

Ay, he hes childer,” said Nanny slowly — ‘‘ a lass not 
grown to ripeness, an’ four lads ower young to fight, an’ an- 
other lad who’s man enough to drink belly-deep.” 

‘‘ Hush, Nanny ! What if Ned be wild as a bog-sprite — 
he must always be next to father in my heart. He has been 
from home this se’n-night past, nurse, or he would strike for 
me. I know he would strike for me. But he may be long 
a-coming, and this sort of quarrel breeds foulness if ’tis not 
righted quickly.” 

The wind was whimpering now, and scarce had strength to 
win through the grating of the belfry tower. From without, 
on the side where the Bull tavern backed the kirkyard, there 
came the sound of noisy revel — a hunting song, half drowned 
in drunken clamour and applause. 

Yond’s your father’s eldest-born. I’ll warrant,” said 
Nanny, jerking her thumb over her shoulder ; ’tis like he’s 
home again. Mistress, for there’s no voice like Shameless 
Wayne’s to sing strong liquor down ’s throit.” 

The girl winced. ‘‘Let him be Shameless Wayne to the 
gossips, Nanny; is’t thy place to judge him ? ” she flashed. 

“ Nawther mine nor yourn, dearie — ’tis only that my heart 
cries out for ye, being left so lonely-like ; an’ pity alius crisps 


6 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


my tongue. Shall I slip me dahn to th’ Bull, an’ whisper i’ 
th’ lad’s ear ? Happen he knaws nowt o’ what’s chanced at 
Marsh.” 

Nor will know, even if ’tis he, till the morning clears his 
wits. Hark ye, Nanny, women have done such things afore- 
time, and my arm is strong.” 

The little old woman went on with her knitting, and still 
the bell rope creaked at its wonted intervals ; but there was a 
change in the ringer’s face — a brightness of the eye, a quiver 
of the shrunken body. She read the girl’s purpose aright. 

Will it not serve ? ” went on Nell, slipping her hand from 
under her cloak and conning the ringer’s face eagerly. 

Nanny took the dagger, and ran her fingers along its edge, 
muttering to herself in a curious key. Who is’t ? ” she asked. 

Dick RatclifFe. Oh, ’twas a gallant fight! We have 
killed the RatclifFes more than once or twice, in the old days 
before the feud was healed — but we struck fair. Nanny, he 
struck from behind ! It was gathering dusk, and I had just 
put fresh peats on the fire and turned to the window to look 
out for father’s coming.” 

An’ hed fetched his snufF-box for him, an’ laid it dahn by 
th’ settle-corner, as ye used to do i’ th’ owd days,” murmured 
Nanny. 

Hush, nurse ! Oh, hush ! I must not think of — of the 
old days.” 

Ay, but ye mun ! ” cried the old woman with sudden 
vehemence. There’s marrow i’ th’ owd days an’ th’ owd 
tales, if ye tak ’em right. See ye. Mistress, ye war a slip of 
a lassie when th’ feud war staunched ’twixt Wayne an’ Rat- 
clilFe ; but I hed seen th’ way on ’t, an’ I knew, plain as if a 
body hed corned an’ telled me, that ’twould break out again 
one day. Rest me I There were hate as bitter as th’ bog 
atween ’em.” 

And shall be again, nurse,” said Nell, in a voice as low as 
the wind that rustled through the belfry-chamber. The 
shadow of tradition stole dark across her, and her fingers 
tightened on the dagger-hilt as if she hid a man’s heart under 
her rounded breasts. 

God willing,” croaked the ringer, finishing a row of her 
knitting and jerking a muffled note of remonstrance from the 
bell overhead. 


ONCE FOR A DEATH 


7 


‘‘ ’Tis as father always said, when I used to sit at his knee 
o’ nights and listen to his tales/’ went on the girl. There 
was never honesty or good faith in a RatclifFe, and when the 
Waynes held off at last and swore a truce, out of pity for the 
few Ratcliffes left to kill, father warned his folk what the end 
would be. And it has begun, Nanny ! Their boys are grown 
men now, and they outnumber us ; and they will never rest 
till they, or we, are blotted out.” 

‘‘’Twill be them as goes under sod. Mistress ; there war 
niver a foxy breed yet but it war run to earth by honest folk. 
Hark ye ! That’s Shameless Wayne’s voice again ! Lad, 
lad, can ye think o’ no sterner wark nor yond, while your 
father ligs ready for his shroud ? ” 

“ He does not know, Nanny. How should he know ? He 
has been from home, I tell thee. Nurse stop knitting and give 
me thy hands awhile ! I thought the weakness in me was 
killed, and now I could cry like any bairn. I would not tell 
any but thee, Nanny, but I must ease my heart, and thou’rt 
staunch as a mother to me. Know’st thou that father’s wife 
— the little shivering thing he brought from the Low Country 
—has played false to him these months past ? ” 

“ I’ve heard summat o’ th’ sort ; ay, there’s been part talk 
’bout it up an’ dahn th’ moor.” 

“ Dick RatclifFe it was who dishonoured her. He ” 

She stopped and left holding Nanny’s hands, and began to pace 
up and down the floor. 

Nanny took up her needles, and fixed her eyes on the 
woollen stocking and waited. “ A lass is tricksy handling at 
such times ; best bide an’ let her wend her own way ; ’twill 
ease th’ poor bairn, I warrant, to talk her fever out,” she 
muttered. 

But the girl’s fever was of a sort that no speech could cool, 
and it was gaining on her fast. Already she had forgotten her 
need of sympathy, and she could think of naught save the 
picture that had been stamped clear and deep on her brain by 
the day’s wild work. 

“’Twas at dusk this afternoon, Nanny,” she began afresh. 
“ Father came riding up to the^ate on the bay mare, and I 
was going to meet him, with a kiss for the rider and a coax- 
ing word for the mare, when Dick RatclifFe came galloping 
along the cross-road. He checked when he saw father, and 


8 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


swerved into the Marsh bridle-track and then — then, before I 
could cry out, before I could know him for a RatclifFe in the 
gathering dusk, he had drawn his sword, and lifted it, and 
struck. I ran to help, and father reeled in the saddle. Nurse, 

I cannot shut out the picture ; I cannot ” 

Nor seek to ; hold fast to it. Mistress — there’s no luck i’ 
forgetting pictures sich as yond. Dick RatclifFe war ofF an’ 
away, I warrant, sooin as his blow war struck ? ” 

Nay, for what could even he fear from one poor girl who 
had never a weapon to her hand ? He watched with a smile 
on his face while I took father’s head in my lap and bent to 
hear his last hard-won words. ‘ Nell, tell our kinsmen ’twas 
a foul blow. Wipe it out, lass ; give no quarter.’ That was 
what he said to me, Nanny ; and all the while Dick RatclifFe 
mocked us, till I got to my feet and cursed him ; and then he 
rode away laughing. And I swore by the Brown Dog that 
father should not wait long for vengeance.” 

The little old woman forgot no stroke of the bell; but the 
knitting fell on her lap, and she lifted a face as stern as Nell’s 
own. “Your father’s lass,” she cried. “Put tears behind 
ye, an’ keep your hate as hot as hell-fire, an’ let th’ sun set 
on ’t ivery neet, an’ rise on ’t ivery morn, till th’ RatclifFes 
hev paid their reckoning, three for one. Eh, dearie, if I hed 
your arms, if I hed a tithe o’ your strength, ’tis out I’d go wi’ 
ye this minute to begin the reaping — to begin the reaping.” 

The wind was fluting eerily about the belfry-chamber. 
The rushlight made strange shadows up and down the walls, 
and the cobwebs floated like grey ghosts. 

“ Hark ! ” whispered Nell Wayne, bending her ear toward 
the grating. “ Didst hear that voice in the wind, nurse ? ” 

“ Ay ; ’twas the Bfown Dog’s howl ; he’s noan minded to 
let ye forget, ’twould seem, an’ them as once swears by him 
can niver rest, day or neet.” 

“ ’Tis not the first time to-day, Nanny. Thou know’st 
Barguest Lane that runs behind Marsh House ? He bayed 
there for a long hour this afternoon, and I was sick for father’s 
coming lest ill should have chanced to him. Once for a 
death, and twice for the slayer’s shrift — hast heard the saying, 
nurse ? ” There was a grewsome sort of joy in the girl’s 
voice. 

“I’ve heard th’ saying. Mistress, an’ I’ve heard Barguest, 


ONCE FOR A DEATH 


9 

what some calls th’ Guytrash — but niver hev I known th’ 
deathsome beast howl for nowt.” 

Nell moved quickly to the door; it seemed she had gained 
resolution from the baying of the spectre hound. Why am 
I loitering here, Nanny ? ” she cried. ‘‘ The Brown Dog 

calls, and I must go. Father will lie lighter if 

Where are ye wending ? There’s naught to be done till 
morning dawns,” said the Sexton’s wife. 

Is there not ? Straight to Dick RatclilFe’s I’m going, 
nurse — he will open the door to me — and I shall look him in 
the face, Nanny, and strike while he is mocking at my help- 
lessness — and there will be father’s dead strength behind the 
blow, because he trusted me to right the quarrel.” 

She drew her cloak close about her, stayed to bid Lucy ring 
the bell till midnight, then went swiftly down the stair, heed- 
less of the smooth worn steps that threatened to spoil her 
errand before she had well started. The wind, whistling keen 
through the graveyard trees, drove new life into her ; she 
quickened her steps as the moor showed white through the 
hedge at the top, for she was thinking of Dick Ratcliffe, and 
of the short three miles that lay between them. 

The moon was out again, scudding fast as the wind itself 
behind a tattered trail of clouds. At the turn of the path she 
all but ran against a brawny, straight-shouldered fellow, who 
was crossing the graveyard from the Cranshaw side. 

‘‘ Why, Rolf, is’t thou ? ” cried Nell, standing off from 
him a little and lifting a white face to the moonlight. 

‘‘Ay, Nell. What in God’s name art doing here on a wild 
night like this?” Wayne of Cranshaw spoke harshly, but 
his eyes, as they roved about his cousin’s face, were full of 
tenderness. 

“ I came to see that — that father was cared for. — Rolf, hast 
not heard what chanced at Marsh this afternoon ? ” 

“ I have heard of it, a half hour since, and was coming to 
see if I could aid thee in aught. Nell, lass, ’tis a rough blow 
for thee, this.” 

He was minded to set his arms about her, but she put him 
away. “ Not to-night, I cannot bear it, dear,” she pleaded. 

Loverlike, his face grew clouded. “ I had thought to com- 
fort thee a little, Nell.” 

“ Nay, Rolf, I would not have thee take it hardly,” she 


10 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


whispered, laying a quick hand on his sleeve. “ Thou know’st 
I loved thee — ^yesterday. To-morrow I shall love thee ; but 
to-night is father’s. When Dick RatclifFe of Wildwater has 
paid his price, come to me, for I shall need thee, dear.” 

Dick RatclifFe ? What is this talk of paying a price, 
child ? Was’t RatclifFe that did it ? ” 

‘‘Ay, and from behind. And they will say ’twas done for 
the feud’s sake ; and ’twill be the blackest lie that ever a Rat- 
clifFe told. ’Twas done for fear, Rolf. The woman that 
father brought home a year agone, the woman I tried to call 
mother, could not keep true for one poor twelve-month ; she 
met Dick RatclifFe by stealth in the orchard, and father 
chanced on them there, and RatclifFe fled like a hare across 
the pasture-field, leaving the woman to brave it out. Father 
swore to kill him, the first fair chance of fight that offered ; 
and he knew it ; and he saved himself by a treacherous sword- 
cut.” 

“’Tis my right, Nell,” said Wayne of Cranshaw, gravely. 

She shook her head. It was as bitter to rob a man of hon- 
our as of his precedence in fight ; yet she could not grant him 
this. “Thine, if any man’s,” she said. “ But father left the 
right to me, and before the dawn comes up cold above Wild- 
water I shall have eased thee of the task.” 

They stood there in silence. Roif Wayne was eager to 
forbid the enterprise, yet fearful of crossing the girl’s wild 
mood at such a time ; and no words came to him. And she, 
for her part, was listening to the gaining shouts of revelry that 
came from the tavern just below; her brother’s voice, thick 
with wine and reckless jollity, was loudest of all, and she 
could no longer doubt that Shameless Wayne was there, bet- 
tering the reputation that was given him by all the country- 
side. Wayne of Cranshaw heard it, and looked at the girl, 
and “ Nell,” said he, “ could not Ned keep sober just for this 
one night ? ” 

She did not answer, but drew her cloak about her, shiver- 
ing. 

“ How the bell shudders, Rolf,” she said, as the deep note 
rang out again and lost itself among the wind-beats. 

“ Was it thy thought, or his wife’s, to bid the bell be rung ? ” 
asked Wayne. 

The girl laughed harshly. “ Hers, Rolf — because she was 


ONCE FOR A DEATH 


II 


afraid of meeting father beyond the grave. She hopes for 
Heaven, this little, lying wisp of windle-straw ; and so she 
paid for a half-hour of the bell, knowing that ’twas all too 
short a passing for a man’s soul and thinking to keep father on 
this side of the Gates. ’Twas a trim device, my faith ! ” 

‘‘And like her, Nell; ’tis just a trick of Mistress Wayne’s 
to rob him at the last, as she robbed him through that year of 
marriage. If such as she win into Heaven, pray God that 
thou, and I, and all honest folk, burn everlastingly.” 

The girl began to move up to the moor — slowly, for even 
now the man’s will bore hardly on her, and she sought, in a 
queer, half-hearted Way, his leave to go and do what must be 
done at Wildwater. “ Rolf — let me go — I am armed, and — 
and ’twill not take me long,” she faltered. 

He gripped her arm roughly. “ Thou shalt not ; I forbid 
thee,” he said. 

The plain compulsion angered her. “ Forbid ? When 
wedlock has shackled me, Wayne of Cranshaw, ’twill be time 
for thee to play the bully. — Rolf,” she went on, pleading 
again, “ I swore by the Brown Dog, and even now I heard 
him in the wind.” 

“ Pish ! Leave Barguests to the farm-hinds that come 
home too full of liquor and think every good dog’s note a 
boggart’s cry. I say, the feud is mine, and mine it shall be.” 

“ Dost grudge it even to me ? When summer was tender 
with the moorside, Rolf, how oft a day didst tell me that 
naught was too much to give ? But winter chills a man’s 
love-vows, and thou grudgest it.” 

“ I grudge the danger — for that is doubled, lass, when a 
maid fights with a man, as thou would’st fight with RatclifFe 
of Wildwater. Hark ye, Nell ! Thy journey might be the 
worst sort of disaster. At the best it would be fruitless, for 
he is like to have taken Mistress Wayne and fled to the Low 
Country, where dalliance, they say, goes free of punishment 
and fair feud is reckoned lawless.” 

“Rolf, I never dreamed that could be ! ” she cried, dismayed. 
“ Would he not wait one night, think’st thou ? Not one 
little night, to give me time ” 

“ He is gone by this, if I know his spirit. There, lass ! 
Let me take thee safe home to Marsh, and rest sure that Rat- 
clifFe is beyond thy reach or mine.” 


12 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


Wayne of Cranshaw, scarce believing his own tale, meant 
to cross to Wildwater soon as he had turned Nell from her 
purpose 5 but while he spoke, there came a sudden clattering 
of horse-hoofs, and after that a jingling of reins and a gruff 
call for liquor, as the two horses pulled up sharp in front of 
the tavern doorway. 

The one thought leaped into the girl’s mind and into 
Wayne’s of Cranshaw. 

Rolf,” she cried, what if he be coming to us ? What if 
Ratcliffe and my stepmother have put off flight an hour too 
long ? ” 

‘‘It may be so — ay, it may be so,” muttered Wayne, as 
they moved over the wet gravestones toward the tavern. 

The moonlight showed them a cumbrous post-chaise, and 
harnessed to it a pair of bays, smoking from the rough, up-hill 
scramble. A postillion stood at the leader’s head, holding a 
horn of old October in one hand and cursing the untoward 
weather as he blew the froth from off the top. 

“We knew the Ratcliffe spirit, and we knew thy father’s 
wife,” said Wayne bitterly, pointing to the chaise. “ I war- 
rant we shall not need hunt our fox to-night, Nell.” 

“ Is there no doubt, think ye ? Rolf, I feared we had lost 
the chance,” muttered Nell, clutching at her dagger. 

But he caught her wrist. “ Lass,” he said, so tenderly that 
the tears came unbidden to her eyes, “ what is thine is mine 
hereafter, and I will take the blows for my share of the bur- 
den. A bargain, Nell, between us ; if he come to-night, the 
fight is mine ; if he fail, then I will let thee go and seek him.” 

She turned for a backward look at the Wayne vault, hidden 
by its flat, iron-ringed stone ; and she wondered if her father 
would like Rolf to strike the blow, in place of the daughter 
who had loved him through the years of trouble. 

“ They will lift that stone in three days’ time,” she mut- 
tered aimlessly ; “ and we shall see the last of father, and 
know that the worms are making merry with his flesh. It 
seems hard, for he was a better man than any in the moorside 
— save thou.” 

And then the “ save thou ” brought back her womanishness 
for a space ; and she fell to sobbing in his arms ; and the 
churchyard gate, up above them, began to grumble on its 
hinges. 


ONCE FOR A DEATH 


13 


Wayne of Cranshaw put her from him and his hand 
went to his belt. “ Have they taken the foot-road across the 
moor ? ” he whispered. Ned RatclifFe was never the man 
to do aught but slink, and slink, until needs must that he move 
into sight of honest men. — Nell, for shame’s sake, give me 
the right.” 

‘‘ Ay, take it — but make no mistake, dear — clean through 
his heart — can I trust thee ? ” 

The gate clashed to. The wind roved in and out among 
the graves. The passing bell boomed out its challenge, and 
was dumb for a long minute. Wayne of Cranshaw laughed 
soberly. 

The Sexton’s wife, meanwhile, went on with her knitting, 
click-clack, up in the belfry-tower. The bell swayed back 
and forth, bent on its work of mercy. A great white owl was 
driven through the window-grating, putting out the rushlight 
as it blundered across the chamber. 

Good-hap to this devil’s weather. Good-hap to the 
lassie’s arm,” croaked the ringer, and picked up a stick she 
had dropped. 


CHAPTER II 


AND TWICE FOR THE SLAYER’s SHRIFT 

Dick Ratcliffe passed through the kirkyard-gate, with 
Wayne’s wife of Marsh clinging close to his arm. 

Need we have crossed the graveyard ? ” said the woman, 
stopping with one hand on the gate. Dainty of figure she 
was, with a face all milk and roses ; and her tongue lisped 
baby-fashion, refusing the round speech of the uplands. 

Ay, need we ! ” cried Ratcliffe, half surlily. How know 
we that the feud-call has not gone round, to carry the Waynes 
on the old trail of vengeance ? As ’tis, we have driven it 
over late, thanks to thy doubtings, Margaret. Come, yond 
passing-bell should warn thee how the time slips by.” 

But she kept a tight hold on the gate, and looked down the 
wet path toward where the Wayne vault-stone stared blue and 
cold at the cold moon. ’Tis uncanny,” she whispered, 
shivering. Know’st thou ’tis his bell, Dick, that rings for 
our journey ? I dare not pass the vault down yonder — it 
stares at me, as if I had killed him — Dick, ’twas not I that 
killed him — why should the stone look up and curse me ? ” 
Pish ! Art unstrung, Meg. The vault-stone is as dead 
— as Wayne of Marsh. Come away, I tell thee ; I can hear 
the rattle of harness-gear, and the chaise will be waiting for 
us at the tavern doorway. I sent a horseman to Saxilton for 
it two hours agone, and it must be here by now.” 

Mistress Wayne left clinging to the gate; but still she 
could not move forward. I dread it so ! The storm, and 
the wildness, and — and the graves. Dick, ’tis too good to be 
true that we should win free of this cruel moor ! Ever since 
I came here, I have feared and hated it — and now its arms are 
closing round me — I can feel them, Dick, as if they had bone 
and muscle ” 

Ratcliffe of Wildwater laughed noisily, for his own spirits 
were yielding to the touch of time and circumstance, and he 
strove to lighten them. Shalt never see the moor again, 

H 


I 


AND TWICE FOR THE SLAYER’S SHRIFT 15 

sweetheart, nor I either. ’Tis Saxilton first, and after that a 
swift ride to some nook of the valleys where they have never 
heard of Waynes and feud.” 

Will they be long in driving us to Saxilton ? ” 

“Nay, for the road is good and the cattle good. What a 
baby ’tis to tremble so, just when we are free.” 

A few steps forward she made, then stopped and seemed 
like to fall. “ I dare not pass the vault,” she whispered. 

He put his arm about her roughly and forced her lagging 
feet down the path. “ The vault cannot kill,” he growled, 
“ but there are those waiting across the moor who carry more 
than women’s fancies in their hands. Will thy fears be less, 
thou fool, if I am set on by a half score of the Waynes and 
killed before thy eyes ? ” 

Weak as a bog-reed to catch the infection of each new 
wind, she bent to his own fear, and hurried on, and all but 
forgot the vault that stared at her from the corner of the path 
where the broken yew-trees shivered in the wind. 

“ Would we were safe in Saxilton,” she wailed. “ Hurry ! 
Oh, let us hurry — they will take thee, Dick ” 

She stopped on the sudden, for a brawny figure stood at the 
bend of the path, blocking the way. Mistress Wayne shrank 
back behind her lover, and her step-daughter crept further un- 
der the yew shadows, watching Dick Ratcliffe’s face go drawn 
and grey. 

“ Good-even, Ratcliffe of Wildwater. Whither away ? ” 
said Rolf Wayne, with bitter gaiety. 

“ To a place that is free of Waynes, God curse them,” an- 
swered Ratcliffe, striving to put a bold face on the matter. 

“ That is a true word, I warrant, for Hell holds none of 
our breed. — See you, Ratcliffe the thief, I could have killed 
you like an adder, as you slew a better man awhile since ; but, 
being a Wayne, I have a trick of asking for fair fight. Ye 
may win to Saxilton, ye two, but ’twill be at the sword’s 
point.” 

Dick Ratcliffe eyed his enemy this way and that, seeking 
occasion for a foul blow; but none showed itself, for Wayne’s 
sword was bare to the wind, and his eye never wandered from 
the other’s face. 

“ When I fear you, you shall know of it,” said Ratcliffe, 
drawing his own blade, grudgingly. 


i6 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


Come to yond vault-stone, then, for ’tis a right merry 
spot for such a fight as ours. You know whose body it will 
cover before the moon is old ? What, faltering, Ratcliffe ? 

Not I ; but the time fits ill, and ’tis cold for Mistress 
Wayne here.” 

Your thoughts were ever kind toward women, but Mis- 
tress Wayne must wait one little moment longer. Not falter- 
ing ? Well, then, I wronged you j ’twas your backward 
glance that put me in mind of a driven hare.” 

Mistress Wayne ran forward and threw her arms about her 
lover. ‘‘ Don’t fight, Dick ; he will kill thee, kill thee,” she 
pleaded. I want to get away from this ghostly place — it 
frightens me, I tell thee, and Saxilton is a far journey, and the 
night wears late. Dick, I will not let thee fight.” 

Ay, Mistress, he will fight, since there is no chance of 
escape left him. You will fight, Ratcliffe of Wildwater, will 
you not ? ” 

Nell Wayne, standing in the shadows, grew furious with 
impatience ; nor could she understand why Rolf kept his tem- 
per in such grim check, unless it were that Ratcliffe needed to 
be whipped into the duel. 

You will fight ? ” repeated Wayne, anger fretting at his 
voice. 

‘‘To the death, curse you,” muttered Ratcliffe, and moved 
slowly up toward the stone. 

“That is well. You are a better man than you showed 
yourself once in the Marsh orchard — and Mistress Wayne 
here has cause to be proud of a lover who does not run away 
a second time, leaving her to meet the danger.” 

Mistress Wayne glanced desperately from side to side in 
search of aid, and her eyes fell on Nell’s figure, standing half 
out of the yew shadows now. 

“ God pity us ! ’Tis Nell,” she cried. 

The girl came out from the shadows and stood at her step- 
mother’s side. “ Could you not wait for one whole day ? ” 
said she. “ You are very quick to make your pleasures sure. 
Father scarce cold, and your lover’s blade scarce wiped — 
truly, you loved my father well ! ” 

‘‘’Twas not my fault — I — child, your hands hurt me — how 
dare you treat me so ? ” stammered Mistress Wayne. For 
the girl, passion-driven for the moment, had gripped the 


AND TWICE FOR THE SLAYER’S SHRIFT 17 


dainty light-of-love by the shoulders and nigh riven the 
breath out of her. 

How dare I ? ” she flashed. “ Keep quiet, Mistress, lest 
I dwell over-much on the wrong you did to father.” 

But, Helen, I am your mother. Let me go, child ; let 
me go, I say. They shall not fight.” 

Mother, say you ? Mother sleeps under the stone yon- 
der. The world has been hard to me. Mistress, but it never 
made you kith of mine.” 

Mistress Wayne began to whimper, and Nell, losing her 
hold with a sort of hard disdain, fixed her eyes on the swords- 
men, standing on the vault-stone and eyeing each other stead- 
fastly, their sword-blades catching blue-grey glances from the 
moon. For Wayne of Cranshaw had been moving backward 
all the while, not daring to turn his face from Dick Ratcliffe 
lest a foul thrust in the back should end the matter. Yet 
RatclilFe still held off, nor would he plant his forefoot squarely 
in position ; and Nell, fearful lest he should refuse combat at 
the eleventh hour, and knowing that Rolf would never strike 
down a man except in fight, so taunted and stung and whipped 
the laggard with her tongue that his heart grew bold with fury. 

The old slyness of his race was with Ratcliffe still; he 
made a feint of withdrawing altogether from the stone, then 
leaped at Wayne with a mighty cry. But Wayne was ready 
for the stroke, and he warded off the down-sweeping blade 
which bade fair to split his skull in two ; his adversary reeled 
backward, driven by the return force of his own wild blow, 
and Rolf had but to strike where it pleased him to settle the 
issue once and for all. 

But Wayne of Cranshaw misliked cold butchery, and Rat- 
cliffe’s debt was over-heavy to allow of such prompt settle- 
ment. He waited, point to ground, until the other had gained 
his balance ; and then he made at him ; and the fight waxed 
grim and hot. The wind sank low to a murmur; the vault- 
stone, shining wet, reflected their every movement, of body 
and of bared right arm. There was none of the nicety of 
fence ; parry and cut it was, cut and parry, till the light 
danced off like water from their blades, till the women’s ears 
were tingling with the music of live steel. And all the while 
the minute bell kept thundering its message across the kirk- 
yard and over the rolling moor above; it rang for Wayne of 


i8 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


Marsh, and it hovered between the sword-cuts that were to 
settle whether Wayne of Cranshaw gave his kinsman a peace- 
ful shroud. 

Wayne’s wife was all a-tremble, like a foolish aspen tree ; 
now this she murmured, and now that, until she was like to 
kill her lover, woman’s fashion, by sheer interference of her 
tongue. But Wayne’s daughter stood with a face of scorn, 
saying no word, making no motion — watching, always watch- 
ing, with certainty that Rolf would end the struggle soon. 
At another time she would have feared for Rolf ; but to-night 
was the dead man’s, and she was deaf to love or fear or pity. 
Nay, the very justice of the cause seemed to have determined 
the issue before the fight began. 

“ Ah, ’tis sweet, ’tis sweet ! ” whispered the girl, and caught 
her breath as Wayne’s sword-edge sliced a crimson pathway 
down the other’s cheek. 

Shameless Wayne, meanwhile, had finished his spell of 
drinking at the tavern just below. His step was unsteady 
and his eyes red-ripe with liquor as he moved down the pas- 
sage with intent . to cross the moor to Marsh. Jonas Feather, 
the host, came out of his kitchen on hearing the lad’s step, 
and put a firm hand on his shoulder. 

^^Mun I saddle your mare, Maister Wayne ? ” he said. 

‘‘ God, I’d clean forgotten the mare ! ” laughed Shameless 
Wayne. 

Did I ride hither, Jonas the fool ? Well, then I’ll not 
ride home again ; rot me if I don’t cross the moor afoot, to 
steady me. There’s no horse like a man’s own legs, when 
the world spins round and round him.” 

Best bide here, an’ wend home to-morn — ay, ye’d best 
bide here,” said Jonas, with a line of perplexity across his big 
red forehead. 

What, to swell thy bill ? Go to, thou crafty rogue — 
they’ll be naming thee kin to the RatclifFes of Wildwater 
soon, if thou goest playing fox-tricks with thy neighbours.” 

‘‘Your bill wi’ me is lang enow as ’tis, Maister, an’ a full 
belly craves no meat,” the host retorted drily. “Willun’t 
ye hearken to what I tried to tell ye when first ye came here 
to-neet ? Willun’t ye be telled ’at your father ligs as cold as 
Wildwater Pool, wi’ a RatclifFe sword-cut i’ his back ? ’Tis 
noan decent ’at one i’ your upside down frame o’ body should 


AND TWICE FOR THE SLAYER’S SHRIFT 19 


go to a house o’ death, bawling a thieves’ song, likely, by way 
o’ burying dirge.” 

Shameless Wayne thrust both hands deep into his pockets, 
and leaned against the wall, and laughed till the tears ran 
down his comely face. ‘‘ Wilt never let the jest be, Jonas ? ” 
he stammered. “ Because I’ve not been home these days 
past, and am returning thither full to the brim, thou think’st to 
scare me with a tale like yond ? — And all the folk in the par- 
lour are leagued with thee, thou ruffian,” he went on, with a 
drunkard’s cunning in his eyes. When I first came in, they 
set their faces grim as Death’s fiddle-head, and nudged each 
the other, and muttered, ‘ Ay, ay,’ like mourners at a lyke- 
wake, when thou said’st that the old man was dead.” 

Willun’t ye be telled ? ” cried Jonas, groaning at his own 
impotence to drive the truth home. Willun’t ye fettle up 
your wits this once, an’ hearken to one ’at hes a care for th’ 
Waynes o’ Marsh ? ” 

“ Naught will strengthen me till I have slept off thy liquor, 
Jonas — unless ’twere the chill look of the kirkyard as I pass 
through,” said Shameless Wayne, blundering merrily down 
the passage. 

“ For th’ love o’ God, lad, bide where ye are this neet ! ” 
cried Jonas. But his guest was already out on the cobble- 
stones that fronted the inn doorway. 

Shameless Wayne came to a sudden halt as he gained the 
lower gate of the graveyard. For the minute bell, driving its 
deep note through the fumes that hugged his brain, carried a 
plainer message to the lad than any words of Jonas Feather 
had done. 

“ There’s somebody dead,” he muttered, staring vaguely at 
the belfry-tower. Is’t — is’t father ? Did yond old fool talk 
plain truth, when all the while I thought he jested ? ” he went 
on after a moment’s pause. And then he tried to laugh, and 
swaggered up the path, and vowed that the bell was leagued 
with Jonas in this daft effort to make a laughing stock of him 
throughout the moorside. 

But another sound greeted him from the far side of the 
yew-trees — the clash of steel, and the hungry, breathless cries 
of men who were fighting to the topmost of their strength. 
His step grew soberer; he turned the bend in the path noise- 
lessly, and saw what was doing on the vault-stone. He stood 


20 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


stock-still, and his face was smooth and empty while the wine 
fumes cleared enough to let him understand the meaning of 
all this. 

And then the meaning took him full, and the anguish in 
his eyes was strange and terrible to see. 

RatclifFe of Wildwater, meanwhile, maddened by the sword- 
cut that had slit his cheek, made a sudden onslaught on his 
foe; and Rolf escaped the blade by a bare half-inch; and 
RatclifFe stumbled once again, pressed by his own idle blow. 
Mistress Wayne sprang forward, eager to save the craven who 
had snared her fancy ; but Nell gripped her by the arms, and 
forced her back, and whispered, Strike ! But neither of 
the women had leisure to mark that a loose-limbed lad, with a 
face as old as sorrow, and a hand that played never-restingly 
with his sword hilt, had * swelled the number of those who 
watched the fight. 

Twice Shameless Wayne made as if to join the fray, and 
twice he held back, while RatclifFe recovered in the nick of 
time and warded desperately — while Rolf’s blade pried in and 
out, seeking a place to strike. 

“ Oh God, that I could claim the right ! ” muttered the lad, 
half drawing his sword again. 

‘‘Nell, save him! Your lover will listen to you — the 
night wears late and dreary — we want to reach Saxilton,” 
pleaded Mistress Wayne. 

Not a word spoke the girl. Not a word spoke the wind, 
shuddering into the corners of the graveyard for dread. But 
the laboured breathing of the men sounded loud as a cry al- 
most in the quiet place. RatclifFe, for all his coward’s heart, 
was a cunning swordsman enough when need compelled, and 
now, his first panic lost, he was settling to a steadier effort. 

“ Remember ! ” cried the girl, as she saw her cousin give 
back a pace. 

Wayne of Cranshaw regained his lost ground, and swung 
his blade up to the blue-black sky ; there was a rough jag of 
steel, the clatter of a sword on the hollow vault-stone, a groan 
from RatclifFe of Wildwater ? 

“ Save him, Nell ! ” wailed Mistress Wayne, like a child re- 
peating a lesson learned by rote. 

“Save him? See — see — he strikes — drive home, Rolf! — 
A brave stroke ! ” 


AND TWICE FOR THE SLAYER’S SHRIFT 21 


Wayne of Marsh was righted now, and his kinsman wiped 
his blade at leisure on his coat-sleeve. Nell came to him and 
drew down his rough head and kissed him on the mouth ; the 
little wisp of a woman knelt by her lover’s side, and tried to 
stop the blood with a dainty cambric kerchief, and talked to 
RatclifFe of Wildwater as if her word were greater than God’s 
own, to bring a dead man back to life. 

A deep voice broke in upon them. Remember was the 
word thou said’st, Nell,” cried Shameless Wayne. Christ 
knows there will be no forgetfulness for me.” 

Nell Wayne looked at her brother for awhile, not knowing 
what her thoughts were toward him. And then she shrank 
from him with plain disgust. Up in the belfry yonder she had 
pleaded excuses for Shameless Wayne when another talked his 
good name away ; but she had no pity for him now. 

‘‘Thou com’st in a late hour, Ned,” she said coldly. 

“ I come in a late hour, lass,” he answered, still in the same 
deep voice that was older than his years ; “ and they will noise 
it up and down that Wayne’s son of Marsh sat drinking with 
clowns in a wayside tavern while another robbed him of the 
feud. Well, the long years lie behind, and neither thou nor I 
can better them.” 

A shaft of pity touched the girl. “ I loved thee once, Ned — 
why could’st not — nay, ’tis behind thee, as thou say’st, and — 
and thou’lt never be aught but Shameless Wayne hence- 
forth.” 

The frail woman looked up from handling her lover’s body, 
and there was witless curiosity in her face. “ Who is’t stands 
there, and who has robbed him ? ” she asked. Then with a 
little laugh, “Why, ’tis Ned — to think I should not know my 
own step-son. — Ned, come hither ! Your sister is cruel, and 
she has well-nigh killed me with those slender hands of hers 
— but you will be kinder, Ned, and I want you to staunch the 
bleeding — see how the vault-stone reddens — hurry, dear, for if 
the blood once drips into the vault, the stain can never be 
washed out — never, never be washed out.” 

“You are right. Mistress,” said Shameless Wayne, smiling 
queerly at her from across the stone. “ Though one kills 
every other Ratcliffe that fouls the air, the stain will never be 
washed clean.” 

Wayne of Cranshaw put a kindly hand on him. “Take- 


22 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


heart, lad,” he muttered. The next blow shall be thine, and 
the next after that — and there’s no man in Marshcotes or Ling 
Crag that dares call thee coward.” 

But all may name me fool,” finished the lad quietly. — 
“Take Nell home, Rolf. She’ll suffer thy company better 
than mine just now.” 

But Nell was strung to the storm’s pitch still. “ ’Tis not 
done yet ! ” she cried. “ I thought that one life would pay — 
and what is Dick Ratcliffe now ? Is that thankless lump of 
clay to square the reckoning, dross for gold ? Nay, there is 
more to be done. Listen, Rolf! We will send round the 
feud-call, and rouse our kinsfolk.” 

“ Ay, will we — but not to-night, dear lass.” 

“To-night! Rolf! It must be to-night. No quarter said 
father with his last breath, and God forgive me if I rest before 
the whole tale is told.” 

“ Nay ! ’Tis home and a quiet pillow for thee. Come, 
Nell ! Thou know’st thy strength will scarce carry thee to 
Marsh.” 

Still she refused, though she was shivering as with ague. 
“ No quarter. Wilt not swear it, Rolf? ” 

“ I swear it here, Nell, by any vow that binds a man — and 
by the same token I swear to carry thee to-night by force to 
Marsh, if so thou wilt not come of thy own free will. Are 
the Ratcliffes salt-and-snow, that they should melt away before 
the dawn ? ” 

“ Wilt not help me, Ned ? ” broke in Mistress Wayne. Her 
baby-voice was soft and pleading as she turned to her step-son. 

The stain is spreading — I dare not let it run to the edge — 
there is a little crack down one side of the stone, and the 
blood will never be wiped off if once it drips on to the vault- 
floor.” 

The lad did not answer Mistress Wayne’s wanderings this 
time ; and his sister, glancing round at him with the old im- 
pulse of resentment, saw that Shameless Wayne was sobbing 
as men sob once only in their learning of life’s lesson. Over- 
strained Nell was already, and the fierceness died clean out of 
her. She crept to her brother’s side, and pulled his hands 
down from before his face, and “ Ned,” said she, “ would God 
I could forgive thee.” 

He pointed up the path with a gesture that Wayne of Cran- 


AND TWICE FOR THE SLAYER’S SHRIFT 23 

shaw understood. ‘‘ I’ll follow you in a while — leave me to 
it,” he said. 

Poor lad ! He’ll take it hardly, I fear,” said Rolf, as he 
and Nell went through the graveyard wicket and out into the 
moor, where the hail nestled white beneath the heather and the 
far hills touched the cloud-banks. 

Shameless Wayne stood looking down at his step-mother, 
who still sat fondling her lover’s body. There was no hatred 
of her in his face, though yesterday he would have railed 
upon her for a wanton; nay, there was a sort of pity in his 
glance, when at last he drew near to her and touched her 
arm. 

“ Life has been over-strong for you, eh, little bairn ? ” he 
said. Well, we’re both dishonoured, so there’s none need 
grumble if I take you with me ; shalt never lack shelter while 
Marsh House has a roof.” 

Oh, I cannot come,” said Mistress Wayne; ‘‘ I have to 
get to Saxilton before dawn — I am waiting till the wound is 
healed and the blood stops dripping, dripping — oh, no, I shall 
not come with you — what would Dick say if he woke and 
found me gone ? ” 

Entreaty the lad tried, and rough command ; but naught 
would move her, and when at last he tried to carry her from 
the spot by force, she cried so that for pity’s sake he had to 
let her be. 

‘‘Well, there’s enough to be seen to as ’tis ; may be she. 
will come home of herself if I leave her to it,” he muttered, 
and went quickl)^ down to the tavern-door. 

Jonas Feather was standing on the threshold, his head bent 
toward the graveyard. “ What, Maister, is’t you — What, 
lad, ye’re sobered ! ” he cried, as Shameless Wayne pushed 
past him. 

“ Ay, I found somewhat up yonder that was like to sober 
me. I’m going to saddle the mare, Jonas — she will be needed 
soon, I fancy.” 

“ Sit ye dahn, Maister, sit ye dahn. I’ll see to th’ mare. — 
There’s been a fight. I’m thinking ? I could hev liked to 
see’t, that I could, but they’ll tell ye what once chanced to a 
man ’at crossed a Wayne an’ RatclifFe at sich a time — an’ 
I’m fain of a whole skin myseln.” 

But Shameless Wayne was down the passage and out into 


24 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


the stable-yard behind. Jonas looked after him, and shook his 
head. 

I nobbut once seeM drink so leave a chap all i’ a minute,” 
he said, an’ it takes a bigger shock nor sich a young ’un as 
yond hes shoulder-width to stand. There’s ill days i’ store 
for th’ lad, I sadly fear.” 

At the stroke of twelve, the Sexton’s wife came down the 
belfry steps. Her right foot was numb with tolling the bell, 
and her fingers ached with the knitting ; yet she had no 
thought of such matters as she stepped out into the moonlit 
burial place, for she was wondering how Nell Wayne had 
fared at Wildwater. 

Her father’s lass — ay, ivery bone of her,” she muttered. 
‘‘ Hes she killed him by now — hes she struck ” 

The sound of a cradle-song, chanted in a sweet, low voice, 
came from above. The little old woman stopped her mum- 
bling, and shuffled up the path, and came to where Mistress 
Wayne sat, with her lover’s head on her lap and one baby 
hand pressed close against his breast. 

Nanny touched her on the shoulder. A death for a 
death,” said she ; yet, not with all your tears to help, will 
Dick Ratcliffe be a fit exchange for th’ Maister. ’Twill need 
a score sich as him, or ye, to pay th’ price.” 

‘‘He is sleeping. Hush! You will waken him, and ’tis 
early yet to start for Saxilton,” said Mistress Wayne, lifting 
her childish face. 

The little old woman quailed, and crossed herself, as she 
saw the light in the other’s eyes. “ She’s fairy-kist ! God 
save us,” she muttered, as she hobbled down the path. 


CHAPTER III 


THE LEAN MAN OF WILDWATER 

The Sexton’s wife was afraid of no man that stepped; but 
ghosts, and fairies, and the mad folk who shared communion 
with the spirits, touched a bare nerve of dread. And so she 
stopped midway down the graveyard path, and turned, and 
went back to where Mistress Wayne was cowering above her 
lover’s body. It was not that the Sexton’s wife had any wish 
to help this woman, who had smirched the honour of the 
Waynes, but that she feared the disaster which refusal of such 
help might bring. 

‘‘She’s fairy-kist,” she muttered for the twentieth time, 
looking down at the frail figure. “ God or the devil looks to 
such, they say an’ I mun do th’ best for her, I reckon.” 

“ Ay, ’tis cold, ’tis bitter cold, and Dick will surely never 
come,” said Mistress Wayne, getting to her feet and glancing 
fearfully across the kirkyard. 

“Not to-night, Mistress. Ye’d best wend home wi’ me, 
an’ search for him to-morn,” put in the Sexton’s wife. 

Mistress Wayne did not answer for awhile ; she was watch- 
ing the moonlight glance freakish, cold and wan, from out the 
purple-yellow of the clouds — was listening to the curlew-wail 
that thrilled across the stark, dim moor. And, slowly, as she 
stood there, the closed door of her mind seemed to swing back 
a little, letting the sense of outward things creep in. It was a 
dream, then, that Dick was coming to take her safe into shelter 
of the valleys; this was the moor that closed her in — the 
moor, whose face had frightened her, whose storms had chilled 
her to the bone, through all the brief months of her wedlock 
with Wayne of Marsh. She gazed and gazed into the moon- 
dusk, with still face and rounded, panic-stricken eyes ; and 
from the dusk strange shapes stole out and mouthed at her. 

This for a long moment — and then she ran like a scared child 
to the little old woman’s arms, and hid her face, and entreated 

25 


26 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


protection from that wilderness which had grown a live, ma- 
lignant presence to her. 

“ Give me house-walls about me — give me light, and warmth 
— Mary Mother, hark how the night-birds wail, and scream, 
and mock me,” she cried, with sobs between each panting 
plea. 

The Sexton’s wife, not understanding how any one should 
fear the moor to which she had lived bedfellow these five-and- 
sixty years, was yet quick to snatch the opportunity. It would 
never do to leave this witless body to the night-rain and the 
cold, and who knew how soon she might fall again upon her 
lover’s body and again refuse to quit the spot ? 

‘‘ Come wi’ me,” she muttered, putting an arm about Mis- 
tress Wayne and hurrying her across the gravestones. 

Where wilt take me ? ” cried the other, half halting on 
the sudden. ‘‘Not — not to Marsh House, where Wayne lies 
and haunts me with that still look of reproach ? ” 

“ Not to Marsh, Mistress — nay, not to Marsh. See ye, 
’tis but a step, and there’ll be a handful o’ fire for ye — an’ 

walls to keep th’ cold out ” 

“ Then, we’ll hurry, will we not ? Quick, quick ! The 
shadows are laughing at us — and the owl on the church steeple 
yonder hoots loud in mockery. . Oh, let us hurry, hurry ! ” 
“Well, then, we’re here. Whisht, Mistress, for there’s 
naught ye need to fear,” cried Nanny, halting at the door of 
the cottage which stood just across the road. 

The Sexton, Luke Witherlee, was smoking his pipe in the 
ingle-nook and hugging the last embers of the peat-fire. A 
thin, small-bodied man, with parchment cheeks, crow’s-footed, 
and a weakish mouth, and eyes that were oddly compact of 
fire and dreaminess. He glanced up as the goodwife entered, 
and let his pipe fall on the hearthstone when he saw what 
manner of guest she had brought back with her. 

“ Nay, Luke, muflle thy tongue, an’ axe no questions,” said 
Nanny, in a tone that showed who was master of the Sexton’s 
household. “ This poor body wants a lodging, an’ so we mun 
lie hard, me an’ thee, for this one neet. What, ye’re 
minded to make friends, are ye. Mistress ? ” she broke olF, 
surprised to see her guest, after a doubtful glance at Witherlee, 
go up to him and lay her slim hand in his own earth-crusted 
palm. 


THE LEAN MAN OF WILDWATER 


27 


An’ welcome to ye, Mistress,” said the Sexton quietly. 

We’ve nowt so mich to gi’e — but sich as ’tis, ’tis yourn.” 

Mistress Wayne forgot her terror now that the stout walls 
of the cottage shut out the whimpering goblins of the moor. 
She sat her down by the Sexton’s side, and looked into his 
face, and saw a something there — something friendly, quiet 
and tender — which soothed her mood. And he, for his part, 
seemed full at home with her, though he fought shy at most 
times of the gently-born. 

“ Good-hap,” muttered Nanny, to think there should be 
fellowship ’twixt Witherlee and her ! Well, I alius did say 
Witherlee war ower full o’ dreams to be a proper man, an’ 
happen they understand one t’ other, being both on th’ edge o’ 
t’ other world, i’ a way o’ speaking.” 

Nanny stood open-mouthed awhile, regarding the strange 
pair; then hobbled to the three-cornered cupboard that stood 
in the far corner of the kitchen, and reached down cheese and 
butter and a loaf of oaten bread. To and fro she went, rest- 
less and alert as when she sat in the belfry-tower and sent 
Wayne’s death-dirge shuddering out across the moor. Mis- 
tress Wayne was talking with the Sexton now — childish talk, 
that simmed the old man’s eyes a little — and Nanny as she 
went from cupboard to table and back again, laying the rude 
supper, kept glancing at them with a wonderment that was 
half disdain. 

Will ye be pleased to sup. Mistress,” she said, when all 
was ready. Th’ fare is like yond moor that frights ye so, 
rough and wholesome ; but I doubt ye’re sadly faint for lack 
o’ belly-timber, and poor meat is better nor none at all, they 
say.” 

Mistress Wayne shook her head, with a bairn’s impatience, 
and tightened her hold of the Sexton’s hand. I’m not hun- 
gry, I thank thee — not hungry at all,” she murmured. 

But Nanny would take no denial, and at length she coaxed 
her visitor to break her fast. 

That’s likelier,” growled the little old woman, as she 
threw fresh peats on the fire. “ Victuals is a rare stay-by 
when sorrow’s to be met. Now, Mistress, warm yourseln a 
bit, an’ then I’ll see ye safe between sheets.” 

The peat-warmth, following her long exposure to the wind, 
set Mistress Wayne a-nodding ; and the Sexton, seeing how 


28 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


closely sleep had bound her in his web, took her in his arms 
with a strength of gentleness that was all his own, and carried 
her to the bed-chamber above, and left her safe in Nanny’s 
care. 

‘‘ She slumbers like a year-old babby,” said Nanny, coming 
down again, by and by. 

Oh, ay ? Well, she looked fair worn out ai’ weariness. 
What ails her ? ” answered Witherlee, filling his pipe afresh 
and watching Nanny’s shadow go creeping up the wall as she 
stepped in front of the rushlight burning on the table. 

“ Tha’s heard nowt, I’m thinking, o’ what chanced i’ th’ 
kirkyard ? ” 

“ Nay, I’ve heard nowt. I’ve been dozing, like, by 
th’ ingle, an’ niver a sound I heard save th’ death-bell tha 
wert ringing for Wayne o’ Marsh. Ay, it seemed i’ tune 
wi’ my thowts, did th’ bell, for I war thinking o’ th’ owd 
feud ’twixt Wayne an’ Ratcliffe. ’Tis mony a year sin’ that 
war staunched, lass, but I can see ’em fight fair as if ’twere 
yesterday. ” 

“ Trust thee to doze ! I wonder whiles what thou hast to 
show for thyseln, Luke Witherlee, that I do, while th’ wife is 
ringing her arm off,” snapped Nanny, her temper sharpened 
by the long day’s work and sorrow. 

Show for myseln ? ” said he, with a sort of weary pa- 
tience. Nowt — save that I can plank a grave better nor 

ony Sexton fro’ this to Lancashire. An’ that’s summat i’ 
these times, for we shall see what we shall see now Wayne o’ 
Marsh is killed. Ay, for sure ; there’ll be need of a good 
grave-digger i’ Marshcotes parish. — What’s been agate, like, 
i’ th’ kirkyard I knew there war summat bahn to happen 
for I heard th’ death-watch as plain as noonday.” 

Why, Dick RatclifFe war for carrying olF yond little Mis- 
tress Wayne — her as sleeps so shameless-peaceful aboon stairs 
— an’ Rolf Wayne o’ Cranshaw met them fair i’ th’ kirk- 
yard.” 

The Sexton roused himself, and his eyes lost their dreami- 
ness. 

“ Did they fight, lass ? ” he cried. 

‘‘ Hark to him ! Give him a hint o’ blood-letting, an’ he’s 
as wick as ony scoprel.” 

It’s i’ th’ blood, lass, and ’twill out at th’ first taste o’ 


THE LEAN MAN OF WILDWATER 


29 


blows/’ said Witherlee, with a shamefaced glance at his wife. 

Pm not mich of a man myseln, but I aye loved a fight, an’ 
that’s plain truth.” 

Well, tha’d hev seen one, I reckon, if tha’d been where 
Wayne o’ Cranshaw war to-neet,” retorted Nanny grimly. 

I missed it myseln, for I war ringing th’ bell ; but when I 
came out into th’ graveyard, there war Dick Ratcliife 
stretched on th’ vault-stone, an’ Mistress Wayne greeting 
aboon his body. An’ a rare job I had, my sakes, to get her 
safe within doors.” 

‘‘ They fought at th’ vault-stone, did they ? ” murmured 
Witherlee. Where did they stand, Nanny ? An’ who 
strake first ? An’ how did t’other counter ? ” His voice, 
smooth and gentle, was ill in keeping with the brightness of 
his eyes, the restless movement of his hands. 

How should I tell thee ? I see’d nowt o’ th’ fight, being 
thrang wi’ other wark.” 

‘‘ That’s a pity, now. I alius like to hev th’ ins an’ outs 
of a fight fixed fair i’ my head, so I can go ower it all again 
when sitting by th’ hearthstone o’ nights. Well, well, we 
shall see summat, lass, afore so varry long.” 

The little old woman twisted her mouth askew. Luke,” 
said she, ‘‘ tha’rt at thy owd tricks again. Tha breeds visions 
an’ such-like stuff as fast as a cat breeds kitlings, an’ they run 
all on th’ days when Waynes killed RatclifFes at ivery cross- 
road, when ivery fair day war like a pig-killing.” 

There’s sorrow goes wi’ fighting, an’ there’s mony a 
gooid life spilt,” said the Sexton, but ’tis sweet for a man’s 
stomach, for all that, an’ th’ lads grow up likelier for ’t. 
Look at yond Shameless Wayne, now — wod he be th’ rack- 
etty ride-th’-moo’in he is if he hed to carry his life i’ his hand 
fro’ morn to neet ? ” 

‘‘ He’d hev no life to carry, most like,” retorted Nanny. 

He’d do wi’ mending, would th’ lad ; but there’s a mony 
other men-folk i’ like case, an’ I could do wi’ all on ye better 
if ye war made all ower again. An’ Pll thank ye, With- 
erlee, to say nowt agen Shameless Wayne i’ my hearing, for 
Pll listen to nowt but gooid of him. There’s more i’ him, let 
me tell thee, nor thee or onybody hes found out yet.” 

The Sexton set flint to steel and lit his pipe afresh ; and a 
smile lurked fugitive about his mouth. Well, if there’s owt 


30 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


behind his shamelessness, he’ll hev his chance o’ showing it,” 
he said. Th’ feud ’ull be up, Nanny, by and by. Last 
neet Dick RatclifFe war killed — that’s to mak even deaths on 
one side an’ on t’ other. To-morn likely or th’ next day 
after, another Wayne ’ull be fund stretched stark by some 
roadside ; an’ that ’ull be Nicholas Ratclilfe’s way o’ saying, 
^ Come on, lad’s, an’ fight it out.’ Ay, I’ve seen th’ feud get 
agate afore this, an’ I know th’ way on ’t.” 

“ Then tha should think shame to let thy een brighten so. 
If tha’d seen th’ face o’ yond lass o’ Waynes, when she 
came up to me while I war ringing i’ th’ belfry-tower a while 
back — if tha’d seen th’ poor bairn’s eyes wild for lack o’ th’ 
tears that wouldn’t come — tha’d sing to a different tune, Luke 
Witherlee, that tha wod, about this sword-fighting an’ pistoling. 
Nay, I’ve no patience wi’ thee. Lig thee down on th’ settle, 
Luke, an’ get to sleep. I’ve a long day afore me to-morn.” 

The little old woman settled herself as comfortably as 
might be in her rocking-chair, turning her back on Witherlee, 
and shutting her eyes in token that she had said her last word 
for the night. But the Sexton still sat on, his pipe-bowl in 
the hollow of one hand, his eyes upon the grey-red ashes of 
the peats. Old and gnarled his body was, and shrunken his 
face ; but he was thinking of the fights to come and the heart 
of him was lusty as a boy’s. 

Only once did Nanny break the silence. I cannot 
thoyle to thin’ o’ th’ way yond little body aboon stairs is 
sleeping,” she said, half rousing herself. She’s no light sins 
to carry, an’ wakefulness wod hev shown a likelier sperrit.” 

Live an’ let live, lass,” said Witherlee gently ; an’ 
when Mistress Wayne hes fund her wits again, ’twill be time 
to cry out on her for her sins.” 

Tha’rt ower tender for this rough world. I alius telled 
thee so,” murmured the little old woman. 

Soon she was breathing in the sharp, stifled fashion that 
told the Sexton she was hard asleep. And he, too, began to 
nod, with softer thoughts than fight to give him company — 
thoughts of the frail woman who had claimed his hospitality, 
the little fairy-kist wanton who seemed so full in sympathy 
with his dreamings. 

“ Good or bad, God keep the little body,” he whispered in 
his sleep. 


THE LEAN MAN OF WILDWATER 


31 


Silence crept shadowy from the corners of the room — the 
silence, compact of rustling undersounds, that seems full of 
tragedies half lost yet unforgotten. The little sounds grew 
big, the big ones thunderous. The eight-day clock on the right 
hand of the chimney-piece ticked weightily, with grave disre- 
gard of everything save Time’s slow passing. Nanny’s harsh 
breathing crossed her goodman’s softer snore. And now a rat 
floundered in the rafters overhead ; and now the spiders in the 
walls began their clear and eerie ticking — tick-tick^ tick-tick^ 
like the swinging of an elfin pendulum. Once in a while an 
owl hooted, or the long-drawn wailing of a peewit sounded 
from the moor without. The night, in this cottage-kitchen, 
was endless, ghoulish and unrestful ; and the slumbering folk 
on chair and settle served but to heighten the unrestfulness. 

Witherlee turned in his sleep, and lifted his eyelids for a 
moment, and heard the spiders ticking in the wall. Yond 
is th’ death-tick,” he muttered drowsily. ‘‘ Lord save us, 
there’ll be blows afore th’ moon wears old.” 

Again the fret of little sounds fell over the cottage — over the 
living-room, and over the bed-chamber above where Mistress 
Wayne was tricking a brief spell of sleep from fate. But her 
sleep was neither so lasting nor so light as Nanny Witherlee 
had named it, and dawn was scarce greying over the moor- 
reaches when she waked. 

Full of a sense of disaster, confused and rudderless, she rose 
and went to the window and looked out across the graves. 
And the dawn was a pitiful thing, that came to touch her sor- 
rows into life. Where was she ? And why should the 
grave stones, set toward the brightening East, show red as 
blood ? She could not tell — only, that some one was waiting to 
carry her far from these dreadful places of the moor. Some- 
one was waiting for her — that was the one surety she had. 
But where ? 

She smiled on the sudden, and clapped her slender, blue- 
veined hands together. Why, yes,” she lisped, ’tis Dick 
RatclifFe who waits for me— strange that I cannot see him in 
the graveyard. We should have met there, he and 1.” She 
stopped and knit her little brows. Dick lives at Wild- 
water,” she went on slowly. How if I seek him out, and 
reproach him that he did not wait ? Yes, yes. I’ll go to Wild- 
water — we have far to go to-day, and I must hurry.” 


32 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


She picked up her wearing-gear and eyed it questioningly ; 
then donned it quickly, stole down the stair, and stood, finger 
on lip, regarding the Sexton and his wife. 

‘‘If they should waken, they would never let me go,” she 
murmured. “ I must tread softly — very softly.” 

“ ’Tis th’ death-tick, an’ there’ll be fight afore th’ new 
moon’s in her cradle,” muttered the Sexton in his sleep. 

Mistress Wayne, startled by his voice, ran fast across the 
floor, and lifted the latch, and went out into the gathering 
dawn. A moment only she halted in the lane, then turned to 
her right hand and went up toward the moor with hurried 
steps. She must reach Wildwater — and Wildwater, she knew 
lay somewhere up among the moors. 

Up and up she went, past naked pasture-land and lank, 
rough-furrowed fields. She passed a shepherd tending the 
ewes which had lambed in the inclement weather — one of the 
Marsh shepherds, who wondered sorely to see his late master’s 
wife come up the moors in such guise and at such an hour. 

“ I want to get to Wildwater ; some one is waiting for me 
there, and we have far to go, and I cannot find the way,” she 
said, drawing near to the shepherd, yet keeping a watchful eye 
on him, and ready, like some wild thing of the moor, to take 
flight at the first hint of danger. 

The shepherd eyed her queerly. “Ye want Wildwater, 
Mistress ? Well, ’tis a fairish step fro’ here to there — though 
yond bridle-track will land ye straight to th’ door-stun, if ye 
follow it far enough. Are ye forced to wend thither, if I mud 
axe a plain question ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, I have a friend there who waits my coming. 
He’ll be angry if I fail him.” 

“ ’Tis no good house to visit,” said the shepherd, scratching 
his head in dire perplexity. “ Have a thowt. Mistress, o’ 
them that live theer.” 

“ My lover dwells there. Is not that enough ? ” she 
answered gravely, and went her way. 

Up and up, till she gained the wildest of the moor, where 
eagles nested and the goshawk soared. Up and up, until she 
stood beside Wildwater Pool, and looked across its stagnant 
waters, and saw the long house of the Ratcliffes frown beetle- 
browed upon her from amid the waste of ling. And half she 
feared 5 and half she gladdened, thinking what welcome her 


THE LEAN MAN OF WILDWATER 33 

I,.,*..* held 111 aLuit her j but when she neared the gate and 
felt the swart defiance of the house, she halted. 

Between Ling Crag and Bouldsworth Hill it stood, this 
house of the Wildwater RatclifFes. Above it were the wind- 
swept wastes of heath; below, the lean acres which bygone 
RatclifFes had wrested from the clutches of the moor. Yet 
the dip of the hills sheltered it a little and the garden was 
trim-kept adding, if need were, the last touch of desolation to 
the homestead. A rambling house, shouldering roughly at the 
one end a group of laithes and mistals ; above the narrow lat- 
ticed windows the eaves hung sullenly, and the stone porch 
without the door offered at the best a cold welcome, and at the 
worst defiance. Over the porch was a motto, deep chiselled 
in the blackened stone. 

We hate, we strike,” said the house to the outside world, 
and the motto, though it matched well the temper of each 
generation of the Waynes, suited none of the stock so well as 
old Nicholas RatclifFe, known through the moorside as the 
Lean Man of Wildwater. 

Below the wan strip of intake, an upland tarn showed its 
sullen, unreflecting face to the sky. Nor curlew nor moor- 
fowl was ever known to haunt the rushes that fringed Wild- 
water Pool, no fish ever rose from its waters ; and men said 
that God had cursed the pool, since a winter’s night, nigh on 
a hundred years agone, when a RatclifFe had tempted a Wayne 
to sup with him in amity and had thereafter thrown his body 
to the waters. But Nicholas RatclifFe loved the tarn, as he 
loved the storms that broke over the naked hills and the wild 
deeds that had made his fathers a terror and a scourge ; and 
the sons and grandsons who grew up about him he trained to 
the rough logic of tradition. Brave the Lean Man was, and 
crafty as a stoat ; wiry of body, lank-jawed of face ; and the 
hair stood up from his crown a rusty grey, like stubble when 
the first frost has nipped it. 

Old Nicholas sat in the hall this morning, in the carved oaken 
chair that stood over against the lang-settle. Robert, his 
eldest-born, sat opposite, and three other of the grandsons were 
at table still, finishing a breakfast of mutton-pasty and ham 
and oaten-bread, washed down with nut-brown ale. For the 
hall, running a quarter the length of the house and all its 
width, was the chief living chamber, where the indoors busi- 


34 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


ness of the day was gone through j a anu pi — 

chamber in summer heat, but in winter the winds piped 
through and through it, driving the women-folk for warmth to 
the more cosy parlour. The Lean Man had been cradled in 
cold winds, and it pleased him to see as little as might be of 
the women ; for women were rather a cumbrous necessity than 
a joy to Nicholas Ratclilfe. Thy son should be safe off with 
Mistress Wayne by now,” said Nicholas to his eldest-born. 

Likely. ’Tis all the lad is good for, curse him ! Dick 
was ever the weakling of the breed.” 

Aye, but there’s a use for weaklings, when all is said,” 
chuckled the old man. They fear dishonour worse than 
aught that can chance to them, these Waynes, and when first 
I learned that Dick was playing kiss-i’-the-dark with yon 
milk-faced wife of Wayne’s, I gave him rope enough to stran- 
gle the Marsh pride.” 

He starts well ! ” laughed one of the youngsters from the 
breakfast board. 

He starts well,” said the Lean Man. First to make a 
cuckold of the husband, and then to run him through — he’s 
half a Ratcliffe, this shiftless Dick-o’-lanthorn, after all.” 

Why did you let him go with the wench, father ? ” put in 
Robert. Dick can wield a sword if he’s forced to it, and 
scabbards will need to be empty in a while.’’ 

Pish ! We can spare one arm, I warrant, and ’twas sweet 
to cry Wayne’s wife up and down the country-side for what 
she is. The lad will wed her soon as they get free of Marsh- 
cotes, she thinks — but I know different ; and ’twill eat the 
heart out of the Waynes to know — what, Janet! Thou 
look’st scared as a moor-tit,” he broke off, as a trim lassie 
came in through the parlour door and stood at the elbow of 
his chair. 

Janet Ratcliffe, the youngest of all the Wild water clan, was 
the only one among them who could touch the old man’s 
heart ; some said it was because she was the comeliest of the 
women, and others vowed it was that her raven hair had caught 
her grandfather’s fancy by contrast with the ruddy colouring 
and freckled cheeks that nearly every other Ratcliffe in the 
moorside boasted. But sure it was that whenever the Lean 
Man’s brittle temper had to be tried, Janet was sent as tale- 
bearer. 


THE LEAN MAN OF WILDWATER 


35 

‘‘ There’s one would speak with you, grandfather,” said the 
girl, coming to the elbow of his chair. 

‘‘Then bid him enter. Any man can come into Wild- 
water — ’tis for us to say whether we let them out again.” 

“ Nay, but ’tis a — a woman, sir. I found her wandering 
up and down the garden, plucking the daisies and singing to 
herself.” 

“ By the Lord, we do not have so queer a guest every day ! 
Let her come in, Janet, and we’ll give her the bottoms of the 
ale-flagons if her song be a good one.” 

“ But, sir — she bears a name that is not welcome here — 
and she talks so wildly that I fear her wits are gone.” 

“ What name ? ” snarled the old man. 

“She is wife to Wayne of Marsh — and her clothes are 
dripping — and she speaks all in riddles ” 

Nicholas laughed grimly. “ Bring her to me,” he said — 
“ though, ’tis no new thing, my faith, to talk to a Wayne who 
is scant of wit.” 

“There’s something untoward in this,” muttered Robert. 
“ What should she want at Wildwater, if Dick’s plans had not 
miscarried ? ” 

“ Why, he grew weary of her, belike, ’twixt here and Saxil- 
ton, and set her down by the wayside. Thou know’st the 
lad’s fancies — they go as fast as they come in that addle-pate 
of his. By the Heart, what have we here ? ” Old Nicholas 
stopped, and pointed to the doorway ; and the lads who were 
at breakfast let fall their knives with a clatter on the board. 

And in truth Mistress Wayne was a wild and sorry spec- 
tacle enough, and one to hold a man in doubt whether he 
should shrink from her or laugh outright. “ Where is the 
Lean Man of Wildwater ? I want a word with him,” sBe 
said, and looked blankly round the hall. 

Nicholas RatclilFe smiled cruelly upon her, and, “ Mistress,” 
said he, “ I fear the last night’s storm has used you ill. / am 
the Lean Man you ask for. What would you ? ” 

She carried a half-dozen daisies in her hand, plucked from 
the Wildwater garden, and these she held out to Nicholas 
with a pretty air of confidence. “ I was weaving daisy-chains 
— red daisies, that grew out of a great vault-stone — and while 
I wove them my lover fell asleep.” 

“’Twas a poor lover to sleep at such a time. I’d none of 


36 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


him were I as fair as you/’ said Nicholas, with the same air 
of mock-courtesy. 

And the rain came down — red, like the daisies — and spread 
and spread over the stone — and dripped and dripped on to 
Wayne’s cold forehead as he lay below ” 

They’ve not buried him yet. Mistress,” laughed one of 
the youngsters. 

“ Oh, but they have, sir ! ” she answered, turning her great 
blue eyes on him. They put him on to one of those little 
shelves that Sexton Witherlee showed me once — and then 
they covered him with a flat stone, with rings on it, because 
they knew that was the only way to hold him back from haunt- 
ing me. But he doesn’t heed the stone, and I want Dick — I 
want my lover, who is so big and strong, to wake and stand 
between Wayne’s ghost and me.” 

Nicholas Ratcliffe watched every pitiful turn of speech and 
gesture, and laughed to himself as he drew her on. So your 
lover sleeps. Mistress ? ” he said, softly. 

Yes, amongst the red daisies. And I could not wake 
him, though I tried my hardest. And, oh, sir, will you tell 
him that we shall never be in time, never be in time, unless 
he does not soon bestir himself? ” 

“ I’ll tell him, never fear. Robert, what dost make of it ? 
Is’t not as I told thee, a night’s wandering among the bogs 
has turned her wits ? ” 

There’s more in it ; what is this tale of blood ? ” muttered 
Robert. God, yes, and her bosom is stained with something 
of a deeper dye than rain.” 

The wind moaned so in the heather, all the long night,” 
wailed the woman, ‘‘ and I was cold, and hungry, and sadly 
frightened. Why will he not wake ? Two little corpse-can- 
dles are fluttering over the marsh — how they shine, like the 
dead man’s eyes ! There was Wayne lying there at Marsh, 
and they said they had closed his eyes — but I knew, I knew ! 
His eyes burned — and wherever I moved they followed me — 
sir, will you not bid my lover wake ? ” 

She turned /rom the old man suddenly, her wandering fancy 
caught by the beat of horse-hoofs up the road. That is the 
post-chaise, come to carry us to Saxilton,” she said. 

To be sure,” cried Nicholas. The chaise is to carry you 
and Dick to Saxilton. When will you be wedded, Mistress ? ” 


THE LEAN MAN OF WILDWATER 


37 


Oh, soon, very soon. And then, I think, I shall not fear 
Wayne of Marsh at all — his ghost cannot come between man 
and wife, can it ? See, see ! ” she cried, running to the window. 

A horse ! But there’s no post-chaise with it — how is that ? ” 

The rider dismounted at the door and entered ; and his like- 
ness to Nicholas of the weasel face was plainer now than it 
had been when he talked with the Sexton in Marshcotes grave- 
yard. Mistress Wayne ran up to him and put both hands on 
his shoulders, and laughed a little, roguishly. 

“ Did not my lover bid you bring a chaise ? ” she said. 

Red RatclifFe stared at her. ‘^Your lover? — Ah, now I 
know you. Mistress. Well, no, he gave me no commands, 
for the best of reasons.” 

I know,” she said carelessly, moving to the window 
again. ‘‘ He sleeps, and ’tis unkind of him when there is so 
great need for haste. Well-away, but I must keep watch at the 
window, or the chaise will pass us by.” 

Dick was slain yesternight, grandfather,” said the horseman, 
with a keen glance at Nicholas. 

‘‘ Slain, was he ? ” snarled the Lean Man, ‘‘ whose hand 
went to the slaying ? ” 

‘‘ One of the Long Waynes of Cranshaw met him in the 
kirkyard and ran a sword through him. I had it just now 
from a farm-hand as I rode across the moor, and I turned back 
to tell you of it. Shameless Wayne was drinking at the time, 
they tell me.” 

Well, we can spare fool Dick, my grandson, though I say 
it, and ’twill give us the chance of feud we’ve hungered for 
these years past. And Shameless Wayne was drinking, was 
he ? He lost his chance of fighting his father’s quarrel ? 
That’s bonnie news, lad, and news to be spread far and wide 
about the moor. ’Twill damp their pride, I warrant.” 

‘‘ And the feud will be up again,” growled Red RatclifFe, 
with a glance at Janet. 

‘‘Ay, they all but cut us ofF once, these Waynes, but kind- 
ness bade them let us breed ; and now our turn has come ; and 
Marsh House, that used to grow so thick with them, holds 
only four tender lads and a half-man who sinks his wits deeper 
every day in the wine-barrel. By the Heart, we shall live 
healthier at Wildwater when yonder sword is fleshed again 
and the moor is cleared of Waynes ! ” 


38 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


He pointed to a great two-handled sword that hung above 
the mantel — a weapon, too heavy for these lighter-armed 
days, which had hung idle since the quarrel between Wayne 
and RatclifFe was last healed. 

Janet, who had been listening pale and woe-begone from the 
door, went still of face when Shameless Wayne was spoken of. 
‘‘ Poor Ned ! He will take it hard,” she murmured. 

Again Red RatclifFe glanced at her, ‘‘Till the moor is 
cleaned of Waynes,” he echoed. 

“ Cleaned ? ” echoed the mad woman, turning from the 
window suddenly and facing the Lean Man. “Nay, ’twill 
never be cleaned, for it dripped down, right down to the vault- 
floor underneath.” 

Nicholas, weary of mocking her, pointed a forefinger at the 
door. “ Get ye gone. Mistress ; there is neither room nor 
welcome for you here,” he said. 

“But, sir,” began Janet, “she is beside her wits; it were 
shame ” 

“ Peace, child ! If ever I hear one of my house pleading 
for a Wayne, by God, they shall feel the rough side of my 
hand.” 

Mistress Wayne stood halting in childish perplexity. “What 
would you, sir ? I cannot go till Dick wakes up. What if 
he woke and found that I had gone ? ” 

“ We’d send him after you,” snapped Nicholas, “ for ye 
were the fittest couple ever I set eyes on. Go, baby, and wan- 
der up and down the moor, and tell all the folk you meet how 
you robbed Wayne of Marsh of honour.” 

“Wayne of Marsh?” she whispered, glancing over her 
shoulder and into every corner of the room. “ Is he here, 
then ? Here, too, when I thought I had got away from those 
great, staring eyes of his ! ” 

“ He’s close behind you. Mistress. Run, lest he hold you 
by the throat ! ” laughed one of the youngsters, throwing wide 
the door for her. 

A panic seized her, and without word or backward glance 
she ran out into the courtyard. Janet made as if to follow, 
for pity’s sake, but the Lean Man called her back peremptorily. 

“ Does he not know,” murmured the girl, “ that ’tis mad- 
ness to deal harshly with the fairy-kist ? And she so pitiful, 
too, poor weakling.” 


THE LEAN MAN OF WILDWATER 


39 

I go a-hunting, lads, soon as dinner is olF the board,’’ said 
Nicholas, stretching his legs before the peats. 

Janet forgot her care of Mistress Wayne ; for she knew 
that tone of the Lean Man’s, and mistrusted it. 

‘‘ Do we ride with you, father ? ” asked Robert from across 
the hearth. 

Not one of you. By the Dog, do ye think I would let 
any younger man rob me of the first blow ? Ride in when 
that is struck, and welcome — but pest take whichever of you 
tries to tap Wayne blood before to-morrow.” 

And what of the dead man, sir ? ” put in Red RatclifFe. 
“ Dick’s body lies in the Bull tavern at Marshcotes, so they 
told me.” 

‘‘ Go thou to Marshcotes, lad, and see that he’s brought up 
to Wildwater. Ay, ride off at once ; ’tis unmeet that even 
the weakling of our folk should lie stark within a wayside 
tavern.” 

‘‘ And there’ll be the grave to see to,” said Red RatclifFe, 
getting to his feet. 

“ More than one, haply,” laughed the Lean Man. “ They 

say that Sextons love to see a RatclifFe go a-hunting, and ” 

He stopped, remembering Janet, and stole a glance at her. 

There, lass,” he said, with rough tenderness, ’tis men’s 
talk, this, and it whitens thy bonnie cheek. Go to thy spin- 
ning-wheel till dinner-time.” 

“ We are short of flax, grandfather. I — I — I cannot spin,” 
she faltered, not moving from the elbow of his chair. For 
his threats touched Shameless Wayne, and she was loth to go 
out of ear-shot while he was in mood to tell them what his 
purpose was. 

Go, child,” he said curtly, pointing to the parlour door. 

She went reluctantly, and Red RatclifFe followed her a 
moment later, on pretext of fetching some matter that was 
needful to his ride to Marshcotes. 

‘‘ So, Janet, thou didst want to hear the Lean Man’s pur- 
pose ? ” he said, closing the door behind him and leaning care- 
lessly against its panels. 

‘‘ Whatever I wished or did not wish, cousin, I lacked no 
speech of thine,” she answered, turning her head away. 

Neither dost thou lack flax, though thou wast ready to 
swear as much awhile since,” said Red RatclifFe drily, point- 


40 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


ing to where her spinning-wheel stood in the window-niche, 
the flax hanging loose on the distaff. 

She crossed impatiently to the door, and would have left 
him, but he checked her with a rough laugh. 

‘‘ Wast over eager, cousin, to hear the Lean Man’s purpose 
toward Wayne of Marsh,” he said. “Say, is it true — what 
they whisper up and down the country-side — that thou wert 
friendly to this Wayne the Shameless ? ” 

And if I were, sir, what is’t to thee ? ” she flashed, turn- 
ing round to him. 

What is’t to me ? Shall I tell thee again, girl, that I’ve 
sworn to wed thee ? ” 

And shall I answer again that I will wed thee when ap- 
ple-trees grow ? ” 

The Lean Man has bidden me prosper with my suit.” 

‘‘ I shall persuade him otherwise.” 

Wilt thou ? ” he snarled. Even if I tell him what gos- 
sip has to say of thee and Shameless Wayne ? ” 

Her face took that firmness that mention of Wayne’s name 
never failed to bring there. Thou darest not tell him,” she 
said j for then thou would’st be sure I would never look thy 
way again.” 

The shaft aimed true, for Red Ratcliffe’s passion for his 
cousin had grown to fever-heat during these latter days. 
Finding no answer, he watched her go out by the door that 
led to the garden ; and then he turned on his heel and passed 
through the hall, meaning to saddle his horse forthwith and 
ride down to Marshcotes on his errand. 

The Lean Man is right,” he muttered, as he went out. 
‘‘ ’Tis time that this Wayne of Marsh was out of harm’s way.” 

His hand was already on the door-latch when old Nicholas 
himself, still seated by the hearth, detained him, though a 
while since he had bidden him make all speed to Marshcotes. 

‘^I’ve a word for thy ear, lad,” said the Lean Man. 
“ Come sit beside me and tell me whether ’tis well planned 
or no.” 

For a half hour they sat there, the young rogue and the old, 
their lean faces and red heads pressed close together. And 
now the Lean Man let a chuckle escape, and again Red Rat- 
cliffe would fetch a crack of laughter. 

‘‘ By the Mass, sir, your wits keep sharp ! ” cried the 


THE LEAN MAN OF WILDWATER 


41 


younger, raising his voice on the sudden. “ The plan goes 
bonnily as wedding bells. First, to go hunting ’’ 

Hush, fool, there’s Janet in the room behind,” snapped 
the Lean Man ; and she has less liking for sword-music than 
her bravery warrants.” 

Janet is out of hearing. I saw her go down the garden- 
path just now.” 

“Well, ’tis time thou wast off and about this business. 
Bring back Dick’s body, and forget not to ply old Witherlee 
with questions when thou’rt seeing him about the grave. He’s 
a poor fool, is Sexton Witherlee, and he’ll tell thee all we 
want to know as soft as butter.” 

Janet, soon as her cousin was gone, slipped out into the 
garden — budding with spring leafage, yet cold for all that with 
memory of the storm just over-past — and sought the lane that 
led up to the pasture-fields. This wooing of Red RatclifFe’s 
was growing irksome to her, backed as it was by the Lean 
Man’s favour; nor had she guessed till now that any shared 
the secret of her love for Shameless Wayne. Yet for all her 
own troubles, she found leisure to think kindly of the mad 
woman, who had come in such piteous plight to Wildwater 
and had been turned away by so rude a storm of jests and 
harshness. Where was Mistress Wayne now, she wondered ? 

Shading her eyes against the sunlight, which was fitful, 
chill and dazzling, she looked for the frail woman. At first 
she could see nothing save the bare green of scanty herbage, 
the swart lines of wall, the dark, straight hollows running up 
the fields to mark where the plough had once on a time fur- 
rowed the hard face of the land. Then she made out a little 
figure, moving up toward where the topmost field curved nak- 
edly across the steel-blue sky. 

A great compassion held the girl as she watched Mistress 
Wayne clamber up the hill and turn at the summit and move 
along the sky-edge, her frailty showing pitilessly clear against 
the empty space behind her. The wrath of God held no 
place in the calculations of the Ratcliffes; but Janet had 
learned awe of the self-same storm-winds that had taught 
cruelty to her folk, and she trembled now to think that they 
had turned a want-wit — one of God’s own people, according 
to the moorside superstition — into the heart of the pathless 
and bog-riddled heath. 


42 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


“ Come back ! ” she cried, running up the fields. ‘‘ Come 
back ! You cannot cross the marshes out beyond there ! ” 

Mistress Wayne looked down after the cry had been twice 
repeated, and stopped a moment ; then hurried forward faster 
than before. Janet quickened pace, fear gaining on her lest 
the other should be lost to view. The flying figure above 
moved with a lagging step now, and Janet overtook her at the 
wall-side which divided moor and field. 

‘‘You will not take me back, not take me back ? ” pleaded 
Mistress Wayne, shrinking close against the wall. 

“ I would see you safe to the lower ground. Mistress. 
Where would you go ? ” 

The kindliness in Janet’s voice wrought a sudden change in 
Mistress Wayne. She forgot her dread of the eyes which had 
haunted her throughout the night, and awoke to a keen sense 
of her present misery. “ I will go home,” she said — 
“ home to Marsh House. I am faint, and very hungry. They 
gave me milk and a piece of oaten bread at a farmstead on the 
moor, but that is a long, long while ago — longer than I could 
tell you — is the way far to Marsh ?” 

“ Not far,” said Janet, and then, not knowing how else to 
find her a place of shelter, she took the little woman by the 
hand and led her down the moor until they reached the rough 
brack, cut from the solid peat and flanked on either hand by 
clumps of bilberry, which led to Marshcotes ; and further 
toward Marsh House she would have gone with her, had not 
a glance at the sun told her that she could scarce get back to 
Wildwater before the dinner-hour. 

“ The road lies straight to Marshcotes,” she said, stopping 
and pointing down the highway. 

“ Will you not come all the way with me ? ” pleaded Mis- 
tress Wayne, nestling closer to the girl’s side. 

“ I cannot. Mistress. Grandfather may have lacked me as 
’tis, and I dare not overstay the dinner-hour, lest he should 
guess what errand has brought me out of doors.” 

“ No,” said the other, simply, “ he would not like thee to 
go gathering red-eyed daisies from the stone — Why, now, I 
know my way,” she broke ofF, a light of recognition stealing 
into her empty face. “Yonder is Withens on the hill, and 
over there is Marshcotes ; and there’s a field-path, is there 
not, that takes me out of the high-road down to Marsh — an 


THE LEAN witDWATER 43 

odd little path, all full of rounded pebbles, that creeps down 
the hill so craftily because it fears the steepness ? Oh, yes, I 
know the way to Marsh.” 

‘^Fare ye well,” said Janet, softly, with the tears close be- 
hind her voice. ‘‘ Go home to Marsh, Mistress, and God 
give you friends there.” 

She watched the little figure move down the road, stopping 
here and there to pluck a spray of rusted heather or a half- 
opened wild flower from the banks on either hand, until the 
shoulder of the peat-rise hid her. Fierce in hatred or in love 
was Janet, like all her folk, and her pity for Mistress Wayne 
had grown already to a sort of hard defiance of those who 
could wrong so frail a creature. 

’Tis such as Red RatclifFe who think it sport to mock the 
weaklings,” she said, turning sharp about for Wildwater. 

He would be very brave, I doubt, were he to meet yond 
little body on the moor — had she no men folk with her.” 

But Red RatclifFe came too late to cross Mistress Wayne’s 
path, though he was riding out of the Wildwater gates at the 
moment, bent on seeing to the disposal of the body which lay 
in the Marshcotes tavern. As Janet was half toward home, 
he passed her at the gallop, but an ugly smile was all his greet- 
ing and he went by without once slackening pace. The girl 
misliked his silence ; it was his way to bluster with her at 
each new opportunity, and a score of shapeless fears went with 
her as she hurried back to bear her grandfather company at 
dinner. What was old Nicholas planning when he had sent 
her out of hall this morning ? Bloodshed and unrest were in 
the air ; the whole wide moor seemed throbbing with an un- 
dernote of tumult, and Shameless Wayne had but the one life 
to lose. But the one life to lose — the thought maddened her. 
Real danger, danger that stood before her in the road and 
spoke its purpose plainly, she could meet unflinchingly ; but 
the perils that waited on Wayne’s steps were formless and un- 
numbered. She would not think of them, and to ease her 
mind she turned again to thoughts of Red RatclifFe, his mad 
passion, his cruelty and unruliness. 

Christ, how I hate him — how I hate him ! ” she cried 
between set teeth, as she passed through the Wildwater gates. 

Red RatclifFe, meanwhile, was riding hot and fast. His 
cousin’s scorn, of which he had had full measure earlier in the 


44 SH/ilVlIliL/ILOC 

day, flicked him on the raw all down the road to Marsncutv^ , 
and his thoughts dwelt less on the brother for whom he was 
going to order a grave than on the fierce, quick-witted lass 
whom he had sworn to wed. He was in no good mood, ac- 
cording./, when he reached Marshcotes and drew rein at the 
Sexton’s door. 

The Sexton’s wife, hearing the sound of horse-hoofs on the 
road without, hobbled to the window and thrust her face be- 
tween the plants that lined the sill. Her eyes went hard and 
her mouth turned downward as she saw who was her visitor. 
She was in no better mood, indeed, than Red RatclifFe himself ; 
for ^he had been up betimes after her long ringing of the 
death-bell, and the hundred-and-one bits of housework she 
had got through had not been lightened by the discovery of 
Mistress Wayne’s flight. It was no welcome hospitality that 
she had given to Wayne’s faithless wife; but it was hospitality 
for all that, and it troubled the old woman no little that her 
guest should have wandered, none knew whither. So tart her 
mood was, indeed, that the Sexton had long since been driven 
forth of doors by the goodwife’s tongue, and had taken refuge 
in the graveyard which was working-ground and home in one 
to the gentle man of dreams. 

Is Witherlee in the house ? ” cried RatclifFe, catching sight 
of Nanny’s face between the window-plants. 

The little old woman came to the door and stood there, 
arms akimbo. “ He isn’t,” she answered, looking steadfastly 
at the horse’s ears. 

Then where is he ? I must have a word with him before 
I go back to Wildwater.” 

Where is he ? Where ony honest man is like to be — 
following his trade.” Nanny misliked all RatclifFes, and she 
never troubled to hide her feelings from gentle or simple. 

‘‘ By the Mass, thou’rt shorter of tongue than any woman 
I’ve set eyes on yet. Drop thy fooling, woman, for there has 
news come to Wildwater which sets a keen edge on my temper.” 

Ay, marry ? Then try th’ edge on me — for I’m reckoned 
hard, and hev blunted more men’s tempers nor ye can count 
years. Witherlee’s i’ th’ kirkyard, if that’s what ye’re axing. 
Mebbe ye’ve met th’ Brown Dog on your way across th’ 
moor, an’ he’s warned ye to be beforehand, like, wi’ ordering 
your grave ? ” 


THE LEAN MAN OF WILDWATER 


45 


RatclifFe scowled as he turned his horse’s head. Recall 
now that the Sexton’s wife is friendly to the Waynes, and 
makes a boast of it,” he said, glancing sharply at her. 

A quick retort came to Nanny’s tongue, and she hungered 
to out with it ; but, being a prudent body even where the most 
unruly of her members was in case, answered quietly, When 
gentlefolks come to blows,” she said, ‘‘ sich as me an’ 
Witherlee are quiet, an’ tak our pickings, an’ if we choose 
sides at all, we lean toward them as gi’es us th’ most butter to 
our bread.” 

‘‘ Stick to that creed, Nanny,” said the other, with a rough 
laugh over his shoulder. “ For ’tis apt to go hard at times 
with friends of the Waynes, and if we caught thee crossing the 
scent after the hunt was well up — well, thou hast heard of our 
kind ways with enemies.” 

Red RatclifFe had no sooner disappeared among the 
graves that stood at the far side of the road, after hitching 
his horse’s bridle to the wicket, than Nanny’s neighbour ran 
in from next door — a big-faced, big-boned woman, who 
went through life with a keen regard for everybody’s business 
but her own. 

Begow, there’s summat agate, an’ proper ! ” cried the big- 
faced woman, filling the doorway with her breadth. He war 
that sharp wi’ thee, Nanny, I niver could hev believed. What 
ailed him to gi’e the yond bit o’ warning — an’ thee nobbut a 
bit o’ dirt under his feet at most times ? ” 

Nanny eyed her visitor askance, distrusting her for a slat- 
tern, yet not sorry for a chance of gossip. “ He hes 
heard tell, I fancy, how mony an’ mony a year back I helped 
th’ Waynes o’ Marsh to slip fro’ th’ RatclifFes’ sword-points. 
An’, an’ there’s more nor one of th’ better sort that hes learned 
to fear Nanny’s tongue, an’ th’ sharp een she has for seeing 
fox-tricks. Yond RatclifFe is like as two peas to what th’ 
Lean Man used to be i’ his young days — red hair an’ all.” 

“ There’s red hair an’ there’s red hair,” put in the other, 
weightily. Same as there’s cheese an’ cheese ; but there’s 
one sort o’ red thatch that niver yet spelt owt but foxiness an’ 
double-dealing.” 

“ That’s true, for I’ve noticed it myseln. Black hair for 
honest, says I, an’ red for a man that’ll do owt.” 

Leet hair, thin blood — that’s what J war telled. Ay, sure, 


46 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


ye can niver trust yond sort o* thatch ; an’ all th’ RatclifFes 
hev it, saving Mistress Janet.” 

Mistress Janet’s is black as sloes, an’ she hes a staunch heart 
of her own to match,” broke in Nanny, who rarely stopped to 
praise. But then she might be a Wayne, an’ I’ve alius 
wondered how she came to be born of a Ratcliffe stock. Eh, 
but I wonder aht yond chap is saying to Witherlee ! My 
man hes getten a closish tongue. Lord be thanked, or he mud 
easy say summat that wod stick i’ Ratcliffe’s gizzard.” 

The Sexton had been pottering up and down the graveyard 
all this while. And now he had sat him down on the edge of 
a grave, and filled his pipe and fallen into one of the musing 
fits which were the chief joy of his life. He was out of place 
in the world of living men and women, was Witherlee, and he 
knew it ; but here he was at home, and the folk underground 
were full in sympathy with the dour, clear-sighted philosophy 
which pick and spade had taught him. 

There’s comfort i’ a bit o’ bacca — though. Lord knows, 
’twill be all one, bacca or no bacca, by and by,” he muttered, 
pulling out his tinder-box. We brought nowt into th’ 
world, an’ we tak nowt out, as Parson says at buryings — no, 
not so mich as an old clay pipe to keep us warm under sod.” 

.His pipe well going, he let his eyes rove through the thin 
trail of smoke until they rested on the vault of the Waynes of 
Marsh. A shadowy smile wrinkled his mouth j he was 
thinking of what had chanced here not twelve hours agone, 
and piecing the fight together, stroke by stroke, as he would 
have it be if it were to be fought out again. 

‘‘ So thou’rt here, Witherlee ! Peste, man, thou sittest so 
grey and still that I mistook thee for one of thy own grave- 
stones,” said RatclifFe’s voice at his elbow. 

The Sexton came slowly out of his dreams. Good-day to 
ye, Maister. Th’ wind blows warm at after last neet’s 
bluster,” he said. 

It will blow cold again — after what was done here last 
night,” answered Ratcliffe sourly. ‘‘ Thou hast heard, I take 
it, that my brother was done to death here ? I am come to bid 
thee dig a grave for him, the burying will be on Monday, likely.” 

’Tis an ill-starred day for a burial, but dead men cannot 
be choosers. Oh, ay. I’ll get th’ grave digged reet enough.” 

“ There’ll be more work for thee before long,” went on 


THE LEAN MAN OF WILDWATER 


47 


RatclifFe, angered by the air of quiet aloofness which Wither- 
lee assumed when he had scant liking for a man. There’s 
a saying that a RatclilFe does not love to sleep alone, and we 
must find him a bedfellow.” 

Well, there’s room for a two or three — ’specially i’ th’ 
Ratcliffe slice o’ ground,” said the Sexton, waving his hand 
toward the half-dilled space that underlay the Parsonage. 

‘‘Thy jests are dry, old Witherlee,” snapped the other. 

“ Nay, I war none jesting. Cannot ye see that there’s room 
and to spare ? Oh, ay. I’ll be fain to fill up my bit of a gar- 
den yonder — and thankee for th’ custom.” 

RatclifFe shifted from foot to foot, as if in doubt whether it 
were worth his while to pick a quarrel with the want-wit fel- 
low ; then, thinking better of it, he turned as if to leave. 

“ One spot is as good as another, I take it ? ” he said. 
“ And haply thy work will lie nearer the yew-trees here, where 
the Wayne vault hugs tha causeway. By-the-bye, Sexton, 
when do they bury Wayne of Marsh ? ” he asked, with a sly 
carelessness that was not lost on Witherlee. 

“ To-morn.” 

“ About noon, will it be ? ” 

“About nooin,” answered the Sexton. “Ye’ll let th’ bury- 
ing go forrard peaceable-like ? ” he added, after a pause. His 
face looked dreamy as ever, nor could an onlooker have guessed 
that he was eyeing the other narrowly. 

RatclifFe started at the plain question, then laughed. “ Of 
course. Are we wild beasts, thou fool, to stand between any 
man and decent burial ? Look ye, Witherlee, thou hast a 
dreamer’s privilege to ask odd questions, or I would have 
cracked thee on the mouth for that. What is’t to thee 
whether we do this or that ? ” 

“ It’s a deal to me,” said Witherlee, an odd dignity stiffen- 
ing his shrivelled body. “ There’s a place for everything, 
Maister Ratcliffe, an’ all goes i’ this world, not by what’s done, 
but by th’ place where it’s done. If I meet ye on th’ oppen 
high-road, I’ll mebbe touch my hat to ye, an’ axe no better; 
if I’m i’ th’ house. I’ll tak a lot o’ talk fro’ th’ wife an’ say 
nowt, for a house is th’ woman’s, not th’ man’s ; but here i’ 
th’ kirkyard I’m my own midden, i’ a way o’ speaking, and 
I’ll stand interference fro’ no man — no, not fro’ Parson hisseln, 
for he’s getten th’ kirk, an’ that’s his place. So now ye 


48 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


know, Maister, why I axe if ye’ll let th’ burying get safely 
owered wi’ afore ye fight — I couldn’t thoyle to see outrageous 
doings amang my quiet folk here ; they’ve addled their rest, 
poor soul and ’twould be no way seemly to disturb them.” 

Thou’rt a thought witless, Sexton, as I’ve often heard 
folk say,” laughed RatclifFe. 

‘‘ Well, I keep different company fro’ most folk, and so am 
like to be a bit queer i’ my ways. Have your joke, Maister, 
an’ welcome, so long as ye’ll let my work at th’ vault here go 
peaceable to-morn.” 

‘^’Twas only thy daft fancy bade thee fear aught else. 
Put this coin in thy pocket, Witherlee, and let it remind thee 
there’s a grave to be digged come Monday.” 

Thankee, an’ good-day. I’ll none forget th’ grave,” said 
Witherlee, holding the coin gingerly between a thumb and 
forefinger. 

‘‘ Have they a spare horse at the Bull, think’ st thou ? I’m 
going to the tavern now to take the body up to Wildwater, 
and dead men weigh over-heavy to be carried like maids across 
one’s saddle-crupper.” 

Ye’ll borrow a horse off Jonas Feather; he bought a fresh 
one nobbut last week end, I called to mind,” said Witherlee. 

Lord save us,” he added to himself, to hear him talk so of 
a corpse that’s kin to him ! To laugh because his own brother 
weighs heavier for being dead — nay, they’re a mucky breed, 
these Ratcliffes, an’ that’s as plain as the kirk-steeply.” 

The Sexton followed Red Ratcliffe with his eyes as he went 
dowij the pathway leading to the tavern ; and then he glanced 
again at the coin in his palm. 

‘‘ I dursn’t say him noy, for fear he’d know how sour he 
turns me wi’ yond weasel-face o’ hisn,” he went on ; but I 
don’t like th’ colour of his brass, for all that, and I’d liefer be 
without it. What mun I do wi’ ’t, for it’ll fair burn a hole i’ my 
pocket ? ” His face brightened, and he crossed the graveyard 
briskly. “ I’ll tak it to th’ wife, that I will,” he said ; 
mebbe she’ll tell me what’s best to do wi’ it.” 

“Well, did Red Ratcliffe find thee ? ” asked Nanny, soon 
as the Sexton showed his face indoors. 

So he’s been here, and all, has he ? ” 

“Ay, he came seeking thee — and he threatened what he’d 
do if he catched me meddling wi’ what no way concerned me. 


THE LEAN MAN OF WILDWATER 


49 


Well, happen there’s more concerns me nor Red RatclifFe has 
any notion of. Was it just about th’ grave he wanted thee, 
or was there more behind it ? ” 

There war,” said Witherlee, rubbing his hands together. 
“ He came to see about th’ grave right enough — but he came 
most of all to axe me when Wayne o’ Marsh war to be buried. 
He puts his question careless-like, as if he didn’t fash hisseln 
to know one way or t’ other ; so / put a question to him i’ my 
turn — daft-like, so he shouldn’t guess th’ why of’ — and I could 
tell by his way o’ answering that they mean to swoop down 
on th’ Waynes to-morn while they’re agate wi’ th’ burying.” 

That’s so, is’t ? ” said Nanny, with a quick glance at her 
husband. I war minded to slip down to Marsh before, but 
now I shall let nowt stand i’ th’ gate. They’re ower gentle, 
i’ a proud way o’ their own, is th’ Waynes, and they’ll niver 
think sich a thing could be as blows at burying-time.” 

‘‘ Ay,” assented Witherlee, “ these well-bred folk is like 
childer when they’ve getten foul tricks to deal wi’, and they 
need one o’ th’ commoner sort to look after ’em.” 

‘T should think they do ! — Well, sit thee dahn, Witherlee, 
or tha’ll get no dinner to-day, that tha willun’t. Sakes ! But 
I’m bothered still about yond little Mistress Wayne; hast 
heard owt of her ? ” 

‘‘ Nowt. I talked to Hiram Hey as he went up to th’ land 
this morn, but they’d seen nowt of her at Marsh. Porr bairn ! 
I doubt she’s come to harm.” He wandered restlessly about 
the kitchen awhile ; then, remembering the coin in his palm, 
he put it down on the extreme edge of the dresser. “ I’ve 
getten a crown-piece, lass. What mun I do wi’ ’t ? ” he said. 

‘‘ Do ? Gi’e it to me, for sure, if tha’s no use for ’t. Sakes, 
he talks as if a crown-piece was addled ivery day o’ th’ week.” 

Ay, but it war Red RatclifFe gav it me, an’ tha knaws 
what ill money breeds.” 

Nanny made straight for the dresser, putting her goodman 
to one side with a firm hand. “ I know what lack o’ money 
U breeds, Luke Witherlee,” she said, as she dropped the coin in 
her apron pocket. ’Tis nawther right nor kindly to load a 
harmless bit o’ silver ai’ th’ sins o’ him that owned it, an’ I’ve 
known good childer come fro’ ill parents.” 

“ Not oft,” said Witherlee, and fell to on the oven-cake 
I which Nanny had just set down before him. 


CHAPTER IV 


ON BOG-HOLE BRINK 

The sun was wearing noonward as Shameless Wayne and 
his sister came out of the Marsh House gates and turned up 
the pasture-fields that led them to the moor. It was the same 
morning that had seen the mad woman steal out from Nanny’s 
cottage in search of the rude welcome awaiting her at Wild- 
water; but to Nell Wayne it seemed that yesterday was 
pushed far back into the past. Her vis'it to the belfry, her lust 
for vengeance, the quick answer to her prayers that had been 
given, amid rain-murk and the crash of swords, upon the very 
stone that was to cover Wayne of Marsh — these seemed all 
far off to the girl this morning, as if another than she had lived 
through the tempest of last night’s passion. Behind them, in 
the Marsh hall, lay her father, still as when she had left him 
before the fight ; and something of the stillness of the end 
was in the girl’s face, too, as she kept pace with her brother’s 
slow-moving steps. 

‘^There’s no rest for me, Nell, indoors yonder,” said the 
lad, turning troubled eyes to the old house. 

Nor for me, nor for any of us, so long as father lies there. 
Ned, ’tis cruel that we cannot bury our dead clean out of sight 
soon as the breath has left them. All afternoon our kinsfolk 
will come, and whisper and pray above the body, and go away 
— I can see the whole sad ceremony — and we must be there, 
Ned — and ’twill be bitter hard to remember that the Wayne 
pride bids neither man nor woman of us show a tearful front 
to death.” 

He laughed, bitterly a little and very sadly. ‘‘The Wayne 
pride, Nell ! Did not that die with father, think’st thou ? 
Or hast forgotten what thou said’st to me last night at the 
vault-side ? ” 

The late stress of grief and fight, had left the girl soft of 
heart ; and Ned had ever held a sure place in her love. “ Let 

50 


ON BOG-HOLE BRINK 


51 

that go by, dear,” she said. I was distraught, and my tongue 
went wandering in my own despite.” 

Yet thy tongue spoke truth, lass. I shall never be aught 
but Shameless Wayne henceforth, thou said'st.” 

“ Nay, ’twas but a half truth,” she said, eagerly. There’s 
life before thee, Ned, and swift deeds ” 

He put a firm hand on her shoulder and forced her to look 
him in the face. Nell, I was drinking in the Bull tavern 
while the bell tolled for father from the kirk-tower. Say, 
didst think I knew what had chanced at Marsh ? ” 

Again the old note of reproof sounded in Nell’s voice. “ I 
told Nanny Witherlee that thou didst not know, and I tried 
hard to think it, Ned — but how could it be ? The gossips at 
the Bull must have told thee for whom the bell was ringing, 
for the news had long since spread through Marshcotes.” 

“They did tell me,” began Shameless Wayne. 

“ Ah, God ! ” murmured Nell, confessing how she had clung 
to the last shred of doubt. 

“ And I thought they lied. I thought, Nell — ’twas the fool 
drink in me — that Jonas and his cronies were minded to have 
the laugh of me by this lame tale of how Wayne of Marsh had 
come by his end. Think, lass ! When there was no feud, 
and naught to give colour to a RatclilFe sword-stroke — how 
could a head three-parts gone in liquor believe it true ? ” 

She, too, stopped and sought his eyes. “Ned, thou hast 
lived wild, but one thing I have never known thee do — thou 
dost not lie to save thy good repute. Wilt swear to me that 
thou knew’st naught of what had happened ? ” 

“ By the Dog, or by any oath that holds a man,” he said, and 
she knew that he spoke plain truth. 

“ Why, then, ’twas thy ill fortune, dear, and we’ll look clear 
ahead, thou and I.” 

“Yet the shame of it will cling, Nell. Wherever my name 
is spoken, there will some one throw mud at it. Whenever 
I see one man talking with his fellow, and mark how sudden 
a silence falls on them at my approach, I shall know that they 
were sneering at Shameless Wayne, who sat heels on table 
while his father’s soul wailed up and down the moorside cry- 
ing for vengeance. The RatclifFes will taunt me with it by 
and by.” 

“ And the taunt will stiffen thy arm, and blows will wipe 


52 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


out word,” she cried, her voice clear and strong again. — ‘‘ Dear, 
we have no smooth path to follow, but I give God thanks that 
’twas drink, not thou, that played the renegade last night. It 
would have darkened all my love for thee, Ned, to know thee 
what I feared — ay, though I had fought it down with all my 
strength.” 

Again he laughed mirthlessly. Art so sure that I shall 
live sober henceforth ? ” he said. 

“ Ay, am I ! Dost think Fve seen but the one side of thee 
through all these years ? Thou wast alway better than thy- 
self, Ned, and needed only a rough blow to bring thee to thy 
senses.” 

He interrupted her, impatiently. ‘‘We’re growing wom- 
anish, and I had harder matters to talk of with thee. I’m 
four-and-twenty, Nell, and I have thee and four half-grown 
lads to fend for.” 

“ What, then ? Are the Marsh lands so poor that we need 
cry for every penny spent, like cottage-folk ? ” said Nell, her 
old pride peeping out. 

“ I had a wakeful night, lass, and things came home to me. 
A good farmer drives the work forward, and says little about 
it, and onlookers are apt to forget what fathering the land needs 
if ’tis to butter any bread.” 

“ But there’s Hiram Hey. He has worked at Marsh ever 
since I remember aught, and surely he will look to every- 
thing ? ” 

“ Ay, if he has a shrewd hand ever on his shoulder; but if 
the master plays at work, Hiram will play, too, with the best, 
soon as the old habit wears ” 

Nell could not keep back a smile. “ As well set beggars 
on horseback, Ned, as put thee to farming. Hadst never pa- 
tience for it, nor liking.” 

“ Liking ? Good faith, I loathe the sight of tillage tools, 
and the greasy stench of sheep, and the slow rearing of crops 
for every storm to play the wanton with. But must is must, 
Nell, lass, and naught will alter it. — Look “at Marsh cotes kirk 
yonder ? ” he broke off, pointing over the moor as they gained 
the hill-crest. “ It is broad day now, and ’tis hard to un- 
derstand how lately there was fight beneath yond grey old 
tower.” 

Nell shuddered. “Was it a dream, think’st thou, after 


ON BOG-HOLE BRINK 


53 

all ? Just a dream, Ned, born of the moon-rays and the wild- 
ness of the night ? ” 

’T was no dream, lass, for I carry the marks of it. — God’s 
pity, what can have chanced to Mistress Wayne, I wonder ? 
I left her on the vault last night, after pleading with her vainly 
to return with me to Marsh ; and half toward home I turned 
again, shamed at the thought of leaving her in such a plight — 
and she was gone.” 

Thou didst plead with her to come back to Marsh ? ” said 
Nell, her face hardening. What place has she at Marsh ? ” 

The place that any homeless bairn might claim there j 
and, by the Heart, I’ll find her if I can and give her shelter. 
Fool that I was to leave her there last night ! She may have 
wandered to her death among the moors.” 

And I for one would gladden to hear of it,” cried the 
girl. ‘‘She brought father to where he isj she made our 
honour light through all the country-side ; ’tis treachery to the 
dead to pity her.” 

“ We’ll not fall out, Nell, thou and I ; there are quarrels 
enough to fight through as it is,” said Wayne steadily. “Wilt 
come to Bog-hole brink with me ? The last words ever I 
heard from father was about yond field ; next after thee, I 
think he doted most on the lean fields he had rescued from the 
heather, and ’twould please him if we could whisper in his ear 
at home-going that the work was speeding.” 

His sister glanced curiously at him, scarce crediting the 
change that one night’s agony had wrought in this careless lad, 
nor knowing whether his tenderness or his purposeful, quiet 
talk of ways and means were more to be wondered at. “ Is’t 
safe, Ned ? ” she asked. “ The road to Wildwater crosses 
over beyond Bog-hole brink, and Nicholas RatclifFe has a pair 
of hawk’s eyes in his weasel face.” 

“ ’Twill be as safe now as ever it will ; and who knows but a 
chance may come to square last night’s account ? ” 

She turned and walked beside him up the fields; and, after 
they had crossed the stile that opened on the moor, she broke 
silence for the first time. “ Ned, what of Janet RatclifFe ? ” 
she said suddenly. 

Wayne flushed, and paled again; but his voice was quiet 
when he spoke. “ I have thought that over, too — and — love 
sickens when it crosses kinship, Nell.” 


54 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


Overjoyed and sorry in a breath, she gave him one of those 
brief, half-ashamed caresses that rarely passed between them. 

Art right, dear,” she said — “ but God knows what it has 
meant to thee.” 

‘‘ And I know, lass — and that is all we’ll say about it. 
After all, ’twas hot and sweet enough — but father would have 
cursed me had he lived to know ; and old Nicholas would 
liefer have drowned Janet in Wildwater Pool than see her 
wedded to a Wayne. Even thou, lass, didst rail on me when I 
told thee how it was between us ; and thou’rt a woman. — See 
Bog-hole brink up yonder; that should be Hiram’s figure 
stooping to the spade.” 

Hiram Hey, indeed, had been busy since early morning at 
the brink, as befitted the oldest farm-hand of the Waynes. 
Death might have put an end to the old man’s activity, but it 
was no part of the Marshcotes creed that farming matters 
should be set aside for even a day because the owner of the 
land awaited burial. There was always a fresh master to take 
the old one’s place, but the right season for a tillage-job, if 
once it was let slip by, did not return again. It was high 
time that this bit of field, intaken from the heather during the 
open days of winter, should be prepared for its seed-crop of 
black oats ; and Hiram was working, with his wonted easiful 
swing of arm and downright leisurely tread, at the square heap 
of peat and lime that stood at the upper corner of the field. 
His spade, at each downward stroke showed the naked side of 
the heap, where the alternate layers of black bog-peat and white 
lime, each a twelve-inch deep or so, climbed one above the 
other to half a tall man’s height ; and peat and lime mingled 
in a grey-black dust as he swung spadeful after spadeful in the 
waiting cart. 

‘‘ He’ll noan be pleased, willun’t th’ Maister, ’at he’s been 
called to a better world afore he’s seen this field rear its first 
crop o’ oats,” muttered Hiram. Nay, it do seem fair out- 
rageous, like, to wark as he’s done to break up a plaguey slice 
o’ land, an’ then to dee fair as all’s getten ship-shape. A 
better world he’s goan to ? I’m hoping as mich — for it ’ud 
tak him all his time to find a war.” 

What art laking at, Hiram ? ” came a voice from behind. 

Hiram put a few more spades-full into his cart before trou- 
bling to turn round ; then he planted his spade in the ground, 


ON BOG-HOLE BRINK 


55 


firmly and with deliberation, and leaned on it ; and last of all 
he lifted his eyes to the newcomer’s face. Oh, it’s thee, is’t, 
Jose ? Well ? ” he said. 

^^Well?” answered Jose, the same shepherd who earlier 
in the morning had directed Mistress Wayne to Wildwater. 

Neither broke the silence for awhile, for they were fast 
friends. Been shepherding like ? ” ventured Hiram Hey at 
length. 

“Ay. ’Twar a lamb-storm last neet, an’ proper, an’ I’ve 
lossen a two-three ewes through ’t already, not to mention 
lambs. I doubt this lambkin ’ull niver thrive,” answered 
Jose, leaning over the fence and holding a four-days’ lamb 
toward Hiram. 

“ I doubt it willun’t,” responded the other, with a critical 
glance at the thin body and drooping hind-quarters. 

“ Its mother war carred by th’ side on ’t, dead as Job, when 
I gat up to th’ Heights this morn, and th’ little chap war 
bleating fair like ony babby. Well, I mun tak it to th’ home- 
farm, an’ they’ll mebbe rear ’t by th’ hearthstun. — What’s 
agate wi’ thee, Hiram, lad ? Tha looks as if tha’d dropped a 
crown-piece and picked up a ha’ penny.” 

“ I war thinking o’ th’ owd Maister, who ligs below yonder 
at Marsh. He war a grand un, an’ proper. I warrant th’ 
young un ’ull noan be a patch on him.” 

“ That’s as th’ Lord sends,” said the shepherd, shifting the 
lamb a little to ease his arms ; “ though why th’ new should 
alius be war nor th’ owd, beats me. Tha niver will see th’ 
hopeful side of ony matter, Hiram — no, not if they paid thee 
for ’t. I mind, an’ all, that ye hed hard words to say o’ him 
that’s goan while he war wick an’ aboon-ground.” 

“ Well, that’s nobbut right. If ye cannot speak gooid of a 
man when he’s dead, an’ noan liable to be puffed up wi’ pride 
at hearing on ’t, when can ye let a soft word out, says I ? ” 

“ There’s a way o’ looking at iverything, I alius did say ; 
an’ I’ve knawn a kindly word i’ season do more for th’ living 
nor all th’ praise i’ th’ world can iver advantage th’ dead.” 

“ Nay,” said Hiram, taking up his spade and resting both 
hands on the top, “ nay, I war reared on hard words an’ haver- 
bread, an’ they both of ’em stiffen a chap, to my thinking. I 
doan’t knaw that owt iver corned o’ buttering your tongue.” 

“ Tha doesn’t knaw ? Then that’s why I’m telling ye. 


56 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


There’s th’ young Maister, now — him ’at they call Shameless, 
though I reckon he’s cured o’ that sin’ last neet. He’s a chap 
ye can no way drive, is’t Shameless Wayne, but I’ve knawn 
him, even i’ his owd wild days, go soft i’ a minute if ye tried 
to lead i’ stead o’ driving him.” 

I doubt th’ chap. Whin-bushes carry no cherries, Jose.” 

‘^Well, tha wert alius hard on th’ lad; but there’s marrow 
i’ him, ye mark my words. An’ we shall see what he’s made 
on, choose what, now he’s getten th’ farm on his hands. — 
Sakes, what is’t, Hiram ? ” he broke off, as a slim figure of a 
woman, wild-eyed and mud-bedraggled, came down the moor 
and stood on the far side of the fence watching them in ques- 
tioning fashion. 

Why, by th’ Heart, ’tis Mistress Wayne ! ” cried Hiram. 
“ Begow, I thowt it war a boggart ! What mud she be after, 
think’st ’a, Jose ? ” 

Nay, I know not — save that she passed me many an hour 
agone, as I war looking after th’ sheep, an’ axed th’ road to 
Wildwater. I thowt that she war fairy-kist, and now I’m 
sure on ’t.” 

“ Ay, she’s fairy-kist, for sure ; ye need only see her een to 
be sure o’ that. Tak that lamb o’ thine to her, Jose; I’ve 
known mony a sickness dumb and human, cured by a touch o’ 
such poor bodies.” 

They glanced at Mistress Wayne, expecting speech from 
her ; but she said naught — only stood idly watching them, as 
if she had some question in her mind and feared to ask it. 
Surprised he was, and awe-struck, by this second advent of a 
figure at once so eerie and so pitiful, the shepherd was not 
minded to lose so plain a chance of profit. The lamb was 
sick, and he knew as well as Hiram did what healing these 
mad folk carried in their touch. Eager to thrust his burden 
against the little woman’s hand, he moved up toward the 
fence ; but she took fright at his abruptness, and turned, and 
raced fleet-footed up the slope. 

The shepherd watched her disappear among the furrows of 
the heath, then looked at Hiram. “ What dost mak on ’t’ 
lad ? ” he asked. 

Nay, how should I tell ? ” said Hiram sourly. ’Twould 
seem yond skinful o’ kiss-me-quick ways — who war niver fit, 
as I’ve said mony a time, to be wife to Wayne o’ Marsh — has 


ON BOG-HOLE BRINK 


57 


paid a bonnie price for her frolic wi’ Dick RatclifFe o’ Wild- 
water — Lord save us, though/’ he added, I mun say no ill 
o’ th’ wench, now that she is as she is, for ’tis crixy work to 
cross sich, so they say.” 

She’s talked o’ seeking her lover up at Wildwater,” put in 
the other, in an awed voice. Did she find him, I wonder ? 
’Tis fearful strange, lad Hiram, whichiver way a body looks 
^t it.” 

Tha’s heard nowt, I’m thinking, of how this same Dick 
RatclifFe, that she calls her lover, war killed last neet i’ 
Marshcotes graveyard ? ” 

What, killed ? Think o’ that now ! An’ th’ little body 
trapesing all up and down th’ moor, seeking him and reckon- 
ing he war up yonder at Wildwater House. Where didst 
learn it, Hiram ? ” 

Hiram took his spade in hand again and thrust it into the 
lime — with no immediate intention of resuming work, but as 
a signal that by and by he would have given his tongue as 
much work as was good for it. Where should I learn it, 
save at Nanny Witherlee’s ? I war dahn at Marshcotes this 
morn, an’ says I to myseln, ‘Jose, lad,’ says I, ‘if there’s 
owt fresh about this bad business o’ th’ Maister’s, Nanny ’ll 
know on ’t.’ An’ I war right, for sure; there’s niver a 
mousehole i’ ony house but Nanny hes a peep through ’t.” 

“ Ay, she knows whether ye’ve getten feathers or flocks i’ 
your bedding, does Nanny,” Hiram agreed, as he patted the 
heap with the flat of his spade. 

“ She hed been ringing th’ death-bell, seemingly, and when 
she came out into th’ kirkyard — Now, look yonder, Hiram ! 
We’re seeing a seet o’ company up here this blessed day, for 
here’s th’ young Maister hisseln, an’ Mistress Nell wi’ him. 
Eh, but they’ve getten owd faces on young shoulders, hes th’ 
pair on ’em. I’ll be wending up to th’ farm, lad, wi’ this 
lambkin, for I war aye softish about meeting troubled faces — 
they do may my een watter so.” 

The shepherd made ofF hurriedly along the crest of the 
field, his eyes turned steadfastly from the path which Shame- 
less Wayne and his sister were climbing; and Hiram watched 
him sourily. 

“ Tha’rt right, Jose, when tha names thyseln softish,” he 
growled. “Sakes, if we’re bahn to fret ourselns about ivery- 


58 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


body’s aches an’ pains, where mun we stop ? Lord be thanked 
’at He’s gi’en me a heart like a lump o’ bog-oak — hard, an’ 
knobby, an’ well-soaked i’ brine. So th’ young Maister’s 
coming i’ gooid time, is he, to lord it ower his farm folk ? 
Well, let him come, says I ; he’ll noan skift me by an inch, 
willun’t th’ lad.” 

Under other circumstances Hiram would have been at work 
again by now, nor would he have ceased the unhurried swing 
of leg and arm-muscle, that does so much in a Marshcotes work- 
ing-day, until dinner or the advent of another gossip gave him 
fit excuse for resting. But with the young master close be- 
hind — come here, doubtless, to spy on him — the case was 
altered ; and there was stubbornness writ plain in every out- 
standing knob of the old man’s body as he fell into the most 
easiful attitude that long experience could suggest. 

“Well, Hiram, how goes the work?” said Shameless 
Wayne, stopping at the fence. 

Hiram glanced carelessly at the young master, then fell to 
lengthy contemplation of the sky. “ Better nor like,” he 
said at last, “ seeing I’ve nobbut my own wits to guide me, 
now th’ owd Maister is goan.” 

“ The new master knows a sight less than the old one did, 
Hiram.” 

“Ye’re right, I reckon.” 

“ But he’s willing to learn, and means to.” 

“ Oh, ay ? I’ve heard that ye can train a sapling, but not 
at after it’s grown to a tree.” 

“The same old Hiram Hey! Bitter as a dried sloe,” 
growled Shameless Wayne. 

“ Sloes is wholesome, choose what ; an’ I addle too little brass 
to keep me owt but dry — let alone that I’m no drinker by habit.” 

The master winced at this last home-thrust, then squared 
his jaw obstinately. “ Hard words plough no fields, Hiram — 
no, nor lime them either, as is plain to be seen. Thou’rt a 
week behind with this field.” 

Hiram glanced edgeways at him, not understanding that two 
could use his own rough weapons. “ A week behind, am I, 
Maister ? An’ how should ye come to know whether I’m 
forrard or behind wi’ farm wark ? ” 

Wayne’s face softened for a moment. “ Because the last 
word I heard from father was touching this same field — and 


ON BOG-HOLE BRINK 


59 


by that token, Hiram, Pll see that thou gett’st it limed, and 
sown, and bearing its crop, all in good season, if I have to 
whip thee up and down the furrows.” 

His sister laid a hand on his sleeve. “ Hush, Ned ! ” she 
whispered. ‘‘Thou’lt win scant labour from such as Hiram, 
unless thou bearest a kindlier tongue.” 

Yet Shameless Wayne, who was counted light of head and 
judgment, saw more sides to the matter than prudent Mistress 
Nell; the temper of the moor folk was an open book to him, 
and he knew that if he were to be master henceforth he must 
begin as such, or any after-kindness he might show would 
count for folly with Hiram and his kind. 

Hiram Hey was looking steadily at the master now, a hard 
wonder tempering his obstinacy a little. And so they eyed 
each other, until the older man’s glance faltered, and recovered 
and fell again to the white spots of lime that littered the peat- 
mould at his feet. 

‘‘Now,” said Wayne, “thou hast got thy cart full, Hiram. 
Give yond chestnut of thine a taste of thy hand, and we’ll 
see if thou hast learned yet to spread a field.” 

“ Hev I learned to spread a field ? Me that hes sarved at 
Marsh, man an’ boy, these forty years ! ” cried Hiram, open- 
mouthed now. 

“ Thou hast done good service, too, for father gave his 
word to that ; but whether thou canst spread limed peat — why, 
that is to be seen yet.” 

Not a word spoke Hiram, but gave the chestnut one re- 
sounding smack with the flat of his hand and fell to work as 
soberly, as leisurely, as if he had not just been given the hard- 
est nut to crack that ever had come his way. All across the 
field, as he followed the cart and swung wide spades-full right 
and left, he was puzzling to find some explanation of this 
new humour of Shameless Wayne’s; but he returned to the 
heap as wise as he left it, and began stolidly to refill the cart 
without once looking at the master. 

“ Nay, I’m beat wi’ him,” he muttered. “ What it means 
is noan for me to say — but I warrant ony change i’ Shameless 
Wayne is for th’ war ” 

“ Put that sort of work into it, Hiram, and we shall see a 
good crop yet,” called the master drily, and linked his arm 
through Nell’s to help her down the slope. 


6o 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


They had not gone a score yards, and Hiram Hey was still 
wondering at his powerlessness to give Shameless Wayne a 
piece of his mind,” when a horseman passed at a foot-pace along 
the bridle-track above. Beside him walked another horse — a 
rough-coated bay, that carried a man’s body swung across its 
back. Carelessly fastened the body was, and every now and 
then, as the nag slipped and stumbled up the rocky slope, the 
dead man’s arms, his head and high-booted legs, made quick 
nods of protest, as if the journey lited him little. 

Christ guide us, what is this ? ” cried Nell, aghast at the 
drear spectacle. And then she looked closer at the on-coming 
rider, and lost her mawkishness upon the sudden. ’Tis one 
of the RatclifFes of Wildwater,” she said, with the same 
passionate tremour in her voice that Nanny Witherlee had 
heard last night up in the belfry-tower. 

“Ay, by his red thatch,” muttered Shameless Wayne — 
“ and now he turns his face this way, ’tis he they call Red 
RatclifFe — the meanest hound of them all, save him who lies 
across the saddle-crupper yonder.” 

“ Why, canst see who ’tis ? ” Nell whispered. 

“ Ay — thou say’st him last with a sword-blade through his 
heart.” 

The horseman had reined in at a stone’s-throw from them. 
“ I carried news to Wildwater this morning,” he said, glanc- 
ing from Nell Wayne to her brother. 

“ Good news or bad. Red RatclifFe ? ” answered Wayne in 
an even voice. 

“ Why, good. They clapped hands up yonder when I told 
them what Shameless Wayne was doing while his cousin 
fought for him.” 

The lad reddened, but he would show no other sign of hurt. 
“ There are two chances come to every man in his lifetime,” 
he said slowly, “ and I have lost but one. Get ofF your horse, 
and we’ll talk with a weapon that comes handier than the 
tongue.” 

RatclifFe looked down the rough slope of the moor, think- 
ing to ride in at his enemy and strike at vantage ; but the 
ground was full of bog-holes and no horse could cross with 
safety. “ Nay,” he answered ; “ when I fight with you, 
Wayne of Marsh, there shall be no girl to come between the 
fight — nor a farm-hind to help thee with his spade.” 


ON BOG-HOLE BRINK 


6i 


‘‘ You need not fear them, sir,” laughed Wayne — ‘‘ though, 
now I think of it, old Hiram yonder would be a better match 
for such bravery as yours.” 

The other winced, but would not be goaded into fight ; 
and there he showed himself a RatclilFe — for his race was 
wont to measure pride by opportunity, and when they fought 
they did it with cool reckoning of the odds in favour of them. 

“ Wilt try the issue with my sister, then, if Hiram seems 
too good for thee?” mocked Wayne. ‘‘She can grip a 
sword-hilt on occasion, and ” 

“ She may have need to by and by,” snapped Red RatclifFe, 
pointing to the dead man with the hand which held the bridle 
of the second horse. “ This morning I carried news to the 
Lean Man, and now I am bearing proof of it — and weighty 
proof, ’od rot me, as I found when lifting him to saddle. An 
eye for an eye, Wayne of Marsh — fare ye well, and remember 
that an old tree we know of will bear red blossoms by and 
by.” 

Wayne made a few steps up the slope, but the horseman 
was already rising to the trot and pursuit was useless. 
“ Come, Nell,” he said ; “ blows would come easiest, but it 
seems Pve to learn patience all in one hard lesson.” 

Hiram Hey whetted his hands, soon as he was alone again, 
and began to fill his cart. And many a slow thought rip- 
ened as he worked, though he gave voice to none until Jose 
the shepherd returned from carrying his lamb to the home 
farm, and rested his arms as before on the fence, and gave 
Hiram the “ Well ? ” which prefaced every interval of gossip. 

“Begow, but I’ve learned summat, Jose, sin’ tha wert 
here,” said Hiram slowly. 

“ That’s a lot for thee to say, lad. I’ve thowt, time an’ 
time, ’at ye’d getten nowt left to learn,” responded the other, 
with lazy irony. 

“ Well, ’tis a rum world, an’ thick wi’ surprises, for me as 
for ony other man. Who’d hev thowt, Jose, ’at th’ young 
Maister ’ud up an’ gi’e me a talking-to, fair as if he war his 
father, an’ me set to liming a field for th’ first time ? — I tell 
thee, I war so capped I hedn’t a blessed word to answer him 
wi’ — though I’ve thowt of a dozen sin’ he left.” 

“ Didn’t I tell thee ? ” cried the shepherd, cackling softly 
and stroking his shaven upper lip. “ Didn’t I tell thee. Hi- 


62 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


ram ? Eh, lad, I haven’t lived to three-score an’ three with- 
out knowing a sour cherry fro’ a sweet.” 

Thou’rt ower fond o’ th’ young Maister ; tha alius wert, 
Jose. What’s he getten to show for hisseln ? ” grumbled 
Hiram. 

Measure him by his doings, an’ he’s nowt ; but peep at 
th’ innards o’ th’ lad, an’ tha’ll find summat different- 
like. He war a wick un fro’ being a babby, war Shameless 
Wayne, an’ wick tha’ll find him, Hiram, if fancy leads him to 
meddle wi’ th’ farming.” 

Theer, I niver reckoned mich o’ thy head-piece, Jose ; 
’twar nobbut th’ suddenness of it that capped me so, an’ next 
time I warrant he’ll sing to a different tune. He war right, 
though, about this field, an’ ’tis owing to thee, Jose, ’at I’m 
late wi’ ’t, coming ivery half-hour as tha dost to break me off 
th’ wark. ’Tis weel to be a shepherd, I alius did say.” 

“Well, then. I’ll swop jobs; I’ll tak thine, lad, if tha’ll tak 
mine. Begow, but to say ’at I’m idle i’ lambing-time — Theer 
I’ll be wending ; ’twill noan do mich gooid to listen to such 
fly-by-sky talk of yond.” 

Hiram let him move a little away ; then, “Didst see Red 
Ratcliffs go riding by to Wild water a while back ? ” he called. 

“ Nay, I war off th’ road. Hes he passed, like, while th’ 
Maister war here ? ” said the shepherd, answering tamely to 
the lure and resuming his old easiful attitude against the fence. 

“ I should think he did. An’ he stops, does Ratcliffs, an’ 
mocks th’ Maister ; an’ he up an’ says, ‘ Come thee dahn and 
fight, lad,’ says he, meaning th’ Maister. But Ratcliffs war 
flayed — ay, he war flayed — I’m noan saying th’ lad didn’t 
show hisseln summat like a man.” 

The shepherd was silent for awhile. “ I tell thee what it 
is, Hiram,” he said presently ; “ them Ratcliffss hes been 
thrang this mony a week wi’ their plots an’ their mucky plans. 
There’s niver a neet goes by now, when we meet at th’ tav- 
ern, Wildwater hands an’ Marsh, but they mak a joke o’ 
Shameless Wayne — an’ no rough honest jokes, mind ye, but 
sour uns ” 

“I should like to hear ’em ! ” snapped Hiram. “ I’m noan 
gi’en to liquor, Jose, as tha knaws ; but I’ve a mind to look in 
at th’ tavern this varry neet, th’ first I hear oppen his mouth 
agen th’ young Maister — ” he stopped and looked once 


ON BOG-HOLE BRINK 


63 

down the path that Shameless Wayne had taken. “We shall 
fratch, me an’ ye, lad,” he said, as he settled to his work 
again. 

“ Ay,” chuckled Jose, turning away. “ An’ he’ll best thee 
ivery time. So I’ll say good-afternoon, Hiram, an’ we’ll 
pray there’ll be no more lamb-storms this side o’ th’ summer.” 

“ We shall fratch,” repeated Hiram Hey, and shouted a 
“ gee-yup,” to the chestnut. 

But the Master was thinking of weightier matters even than 
his fratching with Hiram Hey. Nell and he had stopped at 
the parting of the ways this side of Marsh House, and he had 
glanced queerly at her as he said farewell. 

“ Where art going, Ned ? ” she asked. 

He paused awhile before replying ; then, “ I have a tryst to 
keep with Janet Ratcliffe,” he said, in a tone that challenged 
opposition. 

“ A tryst to keep ? ” echoed Nell, lifting her brows. “ How 
long is’t, Ned, since thou told’st me that was over and done 
with once for all ? ” 

“ I told thee truth. The tryst was made when we were 
free to be lovers, — if we would — but now — dost think I’m 
minded to forget the blow that sent father where he is ? ” 

“ Break tryst, Ned ? ” she pleaded eagerly. “ ’Tis unsafe, 
I tell thee, and ” 

“ And thou fearest a pair of hazel eyes will cloud all else 
for me ? ” he finished. “ Get home to Marsh, lass — and 
think something better of my manhood.” 

“ She’ll conquer him again,” Nell muttered after he had 
left her. “ He is mad to keep troth with any RatclilFe. 
Well-away, why must Ned always run so close a race with 
dishonour ? ” 


CHAPTER V 


A LOVE-TRYST 

After seeing Mistress Wayne safe into her road and af- 
ter meeting Red RatclifFe by the w'ay, Janet made all speed 
back to Wildwater, lest her grandfather should miss her from 
the dinner-table. She turned once again as she reached the 
wicket-gate ; and again she looked along the path by which 
Red RatclilFe was crossing the moor to Marshcotes. 

Christ, how I hate him ! ’’ she repeated, and put a hand 
upon the latch, and went quickly up the garden-path. 

A haunch of mutton, just taken from the turn-spit, was 
hissing on the kitchen table as she passed through, and 
she had scarce time to dofF her cloak and smooth her hair a 
little where the wind had played the ruffler with it, before 
Nicholas RatclifFe’s voice came from the dining-hall. 

Where’s Janet ? Od’s life, these wenches are always late 
for trencher-service,” he cried. 

‘‘Nay, for I’m here with the meat, grandfather,” said Janet 
slipping into the place at the old man’s side which was hers 
more by favour than by right. 

“ Where hast been, girl ? ” he asked sharply. 

“ I wearied of spinning and went out into the fields in search 
of appetite.” 

“ Well, have a care. The times are going to change soon, 
and ’twill be well for all RatclifFe women-folk to keep close to 
home.” 

“For fear of Waynes?” cried a lad from the table-foot, 
mockingly. “ I thought, sir, we knew that they were cour- 
teous to foolery with all women. Have you not told us as 
much a score times ? ” 

“ Besides, I could not hug the threshold from morn till 
night j I should die for lack of wind and weather,” put in the 
girl, with a touch of wilfulness that never came amiss to old 
Nicholas from his favourite one. 

“There’s truth in that; and I should ill like to see thee go 

64 


A LOVE-TRYST 


65 


white of cheek, Janet, like yond fool-woman who came to 
talk with me just now. Have a care, is all I say — and if a 
Wayne say aight to thee at any time ” 

“I do not fear any Wayne that steps,” said she, her eyes 
on her plate, and her thoughts on a certain spot of the moors 
where she had promised to keep tryst with Shameless Wayne 
that very afternoon. 

The Lean Man fell into moodiness presently. From time 
to time he glanced at Robert, his eldest-born, and nodded; 
and from time to time he gave a laugh that was half a snarl ; 
and Janet, watching his humour narrowly, lost even the pre- 
tence of high spirits which she had brought to meat. Her 
grandfather was planning mischief, as surely as a hawk meant 
death when it hung motionless above a cowering wild fowl ; 
and the mischief would aim at Shameless Wayne ; and she 
would have more than a love-errand to take her to the moors 
this afternoon. 

Dinner over, old Nicholas called for his horse and buckled 
his sword-belt on. 

‘‘ Come, wish me God-speed,” he laughed, threading his 
arm through Janet’s. 

Janet shrank from him a little, but he was too intent on 
the matter in hand to notice aight amiss with her. “ Wish 
him God-speed,” she thought. On such an errand ? Nay 
but I’ll give God thanks that I made a tryst with Shameless 
Wayne — the Lean Man will scarce know where to look for 
him.” 

“ Come, Janet, hast no word ? See the black mare, how 
eager she is to be off. She winds the scent of chase, I doubt.” 

The girl was silent until her grandfather had gathered the 
reins into his hand. ‘‘Where — where do you ride, sir?” 
she stammered. 

The big bay horse — lean as its master, and every whit as 
tough — was pawing the courtyard stones impatiently. Old 
Nicholas swung to saddle, and looked down grimly, at his 
granddaughter. “ A-hunting, as I told thee,” he said. “What 
meat shall I bring back to the Wildwater larder ? ” 

“ What you please, sir, so long as it be well come by,” she 
answered, looking him hardily between the eyes. 

“ It shall be well come by, lass,” said the Lean Man, and 
cantered over the hill-crest. 


66 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


Not staying to fetch cloak and hood, Janet struck slant- 
wise across the moor soon as her grandfather was out of 
sight. Troubles were crowding thick on her. This morning 
there had been Red RatclifFe’s threats, now there were the 
Lean Man’s. Both aimed against Shameless Wayne, she 
guessed, for of old their hate had been deeper against the 
Waynes of Marsh than against any other of their kin. 
Above the moor-edge a little cloud, no bigger than a man’s 
hand, seemed to have come up — the cloud of feud, which one 
day, the girl knew, would grow to a red thunder-track that 
covered the whole sky. Yet her step grew freer, her eyes 
brightened, as she went out and out across the moor, over the 
gaunt, waste land of peat and bog and green marsh grasses j 
for the friendship of heath went with her, and each step 
further into the heart of the solitude was a step toward him. 
This morning she had been downcast, and even the moor 
had failed to give her its wonted cheer ; but now that dan- 
gers thickened she braced herself to meet them, with a cour- 
age that was almost gaiety. What if the Lean Man had 
gone hunting Shameless Wayne? He would not find him, 
for he was coming to meet her on the moor here — he was at 
the tryst this moment, may be — and the road he would take 
from Marsh was contrary altogether from that followed by 
her grandfather. 

The bog stretched wide before her now, and she had to 
skirt the nearer edge of it, stepping with cautious foot from 
tuft to tuft of ling. There was many a dead man lay among 
the stagnant ooze to left of her ; but the cruelty of the heath 
had no terror for the girl — it was but one quality among the 
many which had endeared the heath to her. Men’s cruelty 
was mean, with squalor in it, but the larger pitilessness of Na- 
ture was understandable to this child of the stormwinds and 
the rain. 

Little by little, as she walked, her mind went over all that 
had passed between herself and Shameless Wayne since first 
he set a lover’s eyes on her and blurted out his headstrong 
passion. That was a twelvemonth back, and ever since she 
had been half betrothed to him — not pledging herself outright, 
but gleaning a swift joy from meetings that would have brought 
the Lean Man’s vengeance on her had he once surprised a 
tryst. Sometimes she had been tender with the lad, but 


A LOVE-TRYST 


67 


oftener she had taunted him with his wild doings up and down 
the moorside ; and all the while she had not guessed how close 
a hold he was taking of her, nor that his very wildness matched 
what the moor-storms taught her to look for in a man. It 
had needed a touch of peril, a sense that life for once was 
buffeting Careless Wayne, to rouse the woman in her; and 
now the peril was at hand, and the boy-and-girl love of yes- 
terday showed vague and empty on the sudden. 

For a moment she halted at the bog-verge and looked across 
the heath. The solitude was splendid from edge to edge of 
the blue-bellied sky — such solitude as dwarfed her pride and 
made her heart like a little child’s for simpleness. Moor- 
birds were clamorous up above her head, and not a half- 
league off the black pile of Wynyates Kirk upreared itself, a 
temple in the wilderness. From marsh to kirk, from wind- 
ruffled heath to peewits wheeling white-and-black across the 
sun-rays, the girl’s eyes wandered. Proud, she had been, shy 
with the fierceness of all untamed creatures, and liberty had 
seemed, till yesterday, a dearer thing than any fool-man’s ten- 
derness. But danger had come to Shameless Wayne, danger 
would sit at meat and walk abroad and sleep with him till he 
or the Lean Man went under sod ; and, knowing this, she knew, 
too, that liberty had ceased to be a gift worth asking for. 

Scarce understanding yet, she turned from the bog-side with 
a sigh that was half-impatient, and crossed to the kirk which 
was land-mark and trysting-place in one. They counted the 
square-towered church at Marshcotes old ; yet it was young 
compared with this rounded pile of stones which was sacred to 
the oldest-born of all religions. Hither the hill-lassies came 
on Mickaelmas Eve to ask if they would be wedded before the 
year was out, and to glean from the silent stone an answer 
prompted of desire ; here, too, sweethearts half confessed found 
wit to tell each other what many a summer’s field-walk after 
milking had failed to render clear, and grown men, who had 
come in jest, had stayed to wonder at the power the old place 
had to stir a laggard tongue. This Wynyates Kirk, at which 
Pagan mothers had once worshipped lustily, seemed still to 
have its message for the moor folk; and the way of a man 
with a maid, which it had watched for generations out of 
mind, showed constantly the same. 

The compulsion of the past was strong on Janet, as she 


68 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


stood under shadow of the rounded stone and strained her 
eyes toward the track which should be leading Shameless 
Wayne to her. She had lived with the wind for comrade 
and the voices of the heath for bed-fellows ; there had been 
none to keep her mind from Nature’s lesson to its children, 
and here, with the ghosts of long-dead love vows plaining 
from the heather that hugged the kirk-stone foot, her heart 
went out once and for all to Shameless Wayne. The spirit 
of the place quickened in her, telling her that neither kinship 
nor any reek of feud could come between herself and Wayne; 
for love was real up here, while pride of family went fluttering 
like a thistle-seed down the rude pathway of the wind. 

He’s a laggard — a laggard ! ” she cried. ‘‘ Ah, if he knew 

what I am keeping from him ” 

She stopped, and the wind grew colder, so it seemed. How 
if the Lean Man had changed his path ? How if he had met 
Wayne by the way and given him that which would render 
him a laggard till the Trump of Doom ? Again she strained 
her eyes across the peat, and far down the moor she saw a 
sturdy, loose-limbed figure stride up toward her. 

Nearer and nearer the figure came, and the girl laughed low 
to herself. Standing with one arm on the stone, she looked 
down at Shameless Wayne and waited. And many a dark 
matter came clear to her in that moment, as she marked the 
lines of trouble in his face ; nor could she tell which was the 
stronger — the shyness that knowledge of her self-surrender 
brought, or the fierce, protective impulse that bade her fight 
his troubles for him. 

So you’ve kept tryst, Janet ? I scarce looked for it,” he 
said gravely. 

Is it my wont, Ned, to break tryst ? ” she answered. 

‘‘ Nay, but last night has changed all — for you and me.” 

His coldness jarred on her, after her late eagerness toward 
him. 

Art chill as this rainy sky, Ned,” she said. Is’t because 
I have looked askance at thee of late that thou giv’st me you 
for the old thou of friendship ? ” 

^‘Nay, but because the friendship is frost-nipped, Janet.” 
She was silent for a while, fighting the maidish battle of 
pride with tenderness. That need not be,” she said at last. 
‘‘Was I not like to hold off, Ned, when thou wast so sure of 


A LOVE-TRYST 


69 


me that thou could’st play the wilding up and down the coun- 
try-side ? So sure of me that, thrice out of four times, a wine- 
flagon showed more tempting company than I ? But thou’rt 
altered, Ned — I saw it in thy face as thou earnest up the moor 
_and ” 

“ Hold, lass ! ’’ he cried, gripping her arm. “ I’ll trick no 
secrets from thee now. Know’st thou I let another fight for 
me in Marshcotes kirkyard ? ” 

I heard as much a while back. And what said I to my 
heart about it, think’st thou ? ” 

‘‘That it matched well with Shameless Wayne.” 

“ That it matched ill with what I would have the man I 
love to be — Ned, Ned, ’tis I am shameless, for I cannot see 
thy trouble and keep confession back. It was well enough to 
flout thee in old days, when thou hadst little need of me — but 
now — hast never a use for me, dear ? ” 

The world had rolled back from Janet. Her folk were 
straw in the balance, the brewing quarrel was naught. They 
were alone. Shameless Wayne and she, with only the quiet, 
far-reaching moor to watch them ; and love was a greater 
thing by far to her woman’s eyes, than any hate of feud could 
be. Wayne reeled for a moment under a like impulse : he 
had come here to say farewell to Janet, expecting a little sor- 
row from her and no more, and she had met him with every 
tender wildness, of voice and eyes and roundly-moving bosom, 
that ever set a lad’s hot pulses beating. Life was to be an up- 
hill fight henceforth for Shameless Wayne ; but here by the 
kirk-stone, with the peewits shrilling overhead and the low 
wind whistling in the heather, he was facing the hardest fight 
of all. Slowly the colour deepened in the girl’s face as the 
moments passed, and still he made no answer and a touch of 
anger was in her shame, as she sought vainly for the meaning 
of his mood. 

“ Lass, why could’st not hold it back ? Why could’st not ? ” 
he cried hoarsely. “ Listen, Janet, there has that chanced at 
Marsh since yestermorn which has set the Pit of Hell ’twixt 
thee and me.” 

“What chanced at Marsh was none of thy doing, nor of 
mine,” she broke in, and would have said more, but the look 
of Wayne’s face, with the tragic lines set deep about his brow 
and under his eyes, daunted her. 


70 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


“ One of thy folk killed my father in cold blood/’ he went 
on, after a silence, and in hot blood I swore never to ease 
my fingers of the sword-hilt until the reckoning was paid. 
Can we lie soft in wedlock, girl, when every dawn will rouse 
me to the feud ? Can we lock arms and kiss, when slain men 
come from their graves to curse the treachery ? ” 

Thou art thou, Ned, and I am I. Can kinship alter that ? ” 
‘‘ Ay, can it,” he cried bitterly, for her stubbornness angered 
him when he looked for help from her at this hottest of the 
fight. ‘^The one part of me is sick for thee. Mistress Janet, 
while the other loathes thee — ay, loathes thee — because thou 
art a Ratcliffe. — There, child, forgive me ! ’Tis no fault of 
thine, God knows, and my tongue slips into unmeant cruel- 
ties ” 

She turned her back on him and leaned her forehead against 
the stone that had brought many a maid to her undoing or her 
happiness. Back and forth went her thought; she would not 
acknowledge how real his struggle was, but told herself that 
he had flouted her for sake of an idle fancy, that she could 
never win back what she had given him just now. She looked 
up at last, and glanced at Shameless Wayne. 

Hast not left me yet?” she said. “’Tis scarce seemly, 
is’t, to pry upon my shame ? ” 

Anger he could have met, but not this tearless sorrow. If 
Janet could cast kinship to the winds, was he to show himself 
a laggard ? He sprang toward her ; and she, seeing his sternness 
gone, waited and held her breath, not knowing what she feared 
or what she hoped. And then he stopped, suddenly, as if a 
hand had clutched at him to hold him back ; and without a 
word he turned and left her. 

She watched him go, her arms clasped tight about the stone ; 
and for awhile her heart went empty of all feeling. So quiet 
the moor was that she could hear the rustle of an eagle, 
sweeping far overhead toward Conie Crag Ravine, with a lamb 
in its talons plucked from some outlying upland field. A 
moor-fowl splashed through the reeds that fringed the marsh 
to left of her. The peewits wheeled everlastingly in dropping 
circles, showing white breasts to the sunlight at every back- 
ward turn. There was a vague, wandering sound that threaded 
through all the others — the gnome-like cries and gurgles of 
water running underground through straitened channels. 


A LOVE-TRYST 


71 


She thought of the frail figure which she had lately seen go 
up the brink-fields, and she asked herself, was she less lonely 
than mad-witted Mistress Wayne ? A storm of passionate 
self-pity swept over her at the thought ; and after that the 
calm of hopelessness. 

Slowly as her passion waned, the girl understood that there 
was more than an idle lad’s caprice underlying all that Shame- 
less Wayne had said. It was no lover’s quarrel, this, to be 
righted at the next tryst. Her folk were the aggressors in 
this new-born feud ; but they were still her folk, and feelings 
that she scarce realised as yet could cloud her love, she knew, 
as already they had clouded Wayne’s. She glanced at the 
kirk-stone again and shivered ; it had spoken her false when 
it bade her count all things less than love, and the folk 
who had whispered soft secrets here — man to maid, and maid 
to man — were they not dead and buried long since, and their 
love along with them ? 

Her pride weakened, too, and she remembered that she had 
come here to warn Ned of the danger with which the Lean 
Man’s malice threatened him. Full of pity for herself she had 
been ; but now the pity was all his, as she looked down the 
winding sheep-track, and told herself that though he humbled 
her afresh, she would seek speech of him once more and tell 
him of the Lean Man’s purpose. But Wayne was already 
out of sight and hearing, and she knew that to follow him was 
useless. 

Scarce knowing where she went, she set off wearily across 
the heath. The moor’s harshness was friendly to her mood, 
and she wandered on and on until, by the time she reached 
the Wildwater gates again, the sun was sinking into gloaming 
mist. 

Her grandfather was standing by the well-spring in the 
courtyard as she entered. His back was toward her, and he 
failed to mark her light step on the flagstones. A vague fore- 
boding seized the girl ; creeping closer, she saw the Lean Man 
stoop to rinse his hands in the clear stream, and a low cry es- 
caped her as she saw that the water reddened as it ran between 
his fingers. 

Nicholas swung round with a frown, and clapped a hand to 
the breast of his tightly-buttoned coat. 

What art doing here, lass ? ” he said roughly. 


72 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


I — I have been walking ” 

What, so soon after I bade thee keep so close to home ? 
said Nicholas, wiping his hands furtively on the lappel of his 
coat. 

She answered nothing for awhile. Then, How went 
the hunting ? ” she asked, with a sudden glance at him. 

Bonnily. I’ve brought home better flesh, Janet, than 
Wildwater has seen this score years.” 

Her forboding took clear shape. Had he met Shameless 
Wayne on his way home from the kirk-stone ? What was it 
that the Lean Man guarded so carefully at his breast ? At all 
costs she must learn if Ned were safe. 

Where did you kill the quarry ? ” she whispered, and 
longed to take back the question for fear of the answer she 
might get. 

Where ? Why, on Cranshaw Rigg — ’tis on the Long 
Wayne’s land, thou’lt call to mind,” chuckled the Lean Man. 

‘‘ Then — then ’twas not Wayne of Marsh ? ” 

He glanced at her curiously ; but it was plain that he shared 
none of Red RatclifFe’s suspicion touching her tenderness for 
Wayne. 

Nay, it was not Wayne of Marsh — for the reason that, 
seek as I would, I could not find the lad,” he answered, as he 
turned to go indoors. 

’Tis not Ned after all,” murmured Janet. Thank God 
he kept the tryst with me.” 


CHAPTER VI 


THE BROWN DOG’s STEP 

Marsh House lay lower than Wildwater, and it had a 
softer look with it, though built much after the same pattern 
so far as roominess and stout building went. The trees grew 
big about it and a pleasant orchard ran from the garden to the 
chattering stream ; yet was it ghostly, in a quiet fashion of its 
own, and not all its trees and sheltered garden-nooks could rob 
it of a certain eeriness, scarce felt but not to be gainsaid. On 
either hand the gateway two balls of stone had lately topped 
the uprights ; but one of these had fallen and lay unheeded 
in the courtyard — a quiet and moss-grown mourner, so it 
seemed, for the lost pride of the Waynes of Marsh. Behind 
the house, leading up to the sloping shoulder of the moor, ran 
a narrow, grass-grown way, scarce wide enough to let a horse- 
man through and lined on either hand by grassy banks and 
lichened walls of sandstone ; they called it Barguest lane, and 
the Spectre Hound who was at once the terror of the moor- 
side and the guardian spirit of the Waynes, was said to roam 
up and down between the moor and Marsh House whenever 
trouble was blowing in the wind. 

And true it was that at certain times — oftenest when the air 
was still, and dusk of late evening or dark of night brooded 
quiet over house and garden — a wild music would sweep down 
the lane, not crisp and sharp-defined, but softened like the 
echo of a hound’s baying far away. The hardier folk were 
wont to laugh at Barguest, with a backward turn of the head 
to make sure he was not close behind them, and these vowed 
that the Brown Dog of Marsh was no more than the voice of 
the stream which ran in a straitened channel underneath the 
road ; water had strange tricks of mimicry, they said, when 
it swept through hollow places, and the deep elfin note that 
haunted Barguest lane was own brother to many a bubbling 
cry and groan that they had hearkened to amongst the stream- 
ways of the moor. And this sort of talk was well enough 

73 


74 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


when treacle posset was simmering on some tap-room hearth ; 
but abroad, and especially if gloaming-tide surprised them 
within hail of old Marsh House, they found no logic apt 
enough to meet their terror of the Spectre Hound. As for the 
Waynes, there were some among them who pretended to dis- 
claim their guardian Dog ; yet there was not one who would 
oust tradition from his veins — not one who failed to loosen 
his sword-blade in the scabbard if any told him that Barguest 
had lately given tongue. 

The spirit of the homestead was strong on Shameless Wayne 
to-night, as he sat alone in the hall, watching the dead and 
thinking his own remorseful thoughts. All that was left of 
his father rested, gaunt and still, on the bier in the centre of 
the hall, where it was laid out in state with candles burning 
low at head and feet. Mistress Nell and the serving-wenches 
were all in the back part of the house ; the lads had not re- 
turned from hawking in the lowland pastures ; the last of the 
day’s visitors had bidden the corpse farewell and had gone 
home again, leaving the new master of Marsh House to watch 
the closed eyes of his forerunner. 

A ray of fading sunlight crept across the hall and rested on 
the dead man’s face, which showed white as the cere-cloth 
that bound his jaws. 

Father, father ! ” he cried, laying one hand on the waxen 
cheek. Do you know what chanced yesternight ? Do 
you know that I, who should have carried the quarrel, sat 
drinking your honour and my own away ? — God, I could see 
each Wayne of them all look askance at me to-day, as they 
came and stood beside you here. And each man was saying 
to himself, ^ There is none of the old breed left at Marsh.’ 
They were right, father — and sometimes, when the candle- 
shadows play about your face, I seem to see you laughing at 
thought of Shameless Wayne — laughing to know him for 
your son.” 

The sunlight moved from the bier, and up the oak-panelled 
walls and backward along the ceiling-beams until it vanished 
outright. Dusk came filtering through the lattices. A low 
stir of bees sounded from the garden, where corydalis and 
white arabis had newly opened to the spring. And still 
Wayne sat on, listening to the thousand voiceless rumours 
that creep up and down an empty house. 


THE BROWN DOG’S STEP 


75 


I cannot wipe out the stain, father,’’ he went on, in a 
quieter voice ; but I will do all that is left to me — I’ll pluck 
Janet out of my heart — and there shall none say, for all my 
shamelessness, that I let the land go backward, though in old 
days you’ll remember there was no love spilt ’twixt me and 
farming matters. But the Wayne lands were always better- 
tilled than any in the moorside, and ’twould hurt you, father, 
if I let them grow foul and poor of crop. — Yet, for all that, 
’tis easier to swear to hunt out every RatclifFe from this to Lan- 
cashire,” he added, with a whimsical straightforwardness which 
showed that a sense of fellowship with the dead had come to 
him through long watching by the bier. 

And then he let his thoughts drift idly and was near to fall- 
ing into a doze when he was called to his feet by a tapping at 
the window. He crossed the floor and the light scarce suf- 
ficed to show him his step-mother’s face pressed close against 
the glass. 

Open to me, Ned, open to me,” she was crying. 

He went to the narrow door that led into the garden and 
opened it; and Mistress Wayne clung tight to him while he 
took her to the hearth — keeping her fast in talk the while, lest 
she should see what lay in the middle of the hall. 

You are cold, little bairn,” he said, using the same half- 
tender, half-scornful name he had given her at the vault-stone 
yesternight. 

Yes, cold and weary, Ned — so weary ! All night I wan- 
dered up and down the moor, seeking somebody — but I never 
found him — and the wind came, and the rain — and all about 
the moor were prying eyes — and strange birds called out of 
the darkness, and strange beasts answered them ” 

Well, never heed them. Haply ’twas Shameless Wayne 
you sought, and he will see that none does you hurt.” 

She put her face close to his and looked at him fixedly in 
the deepening gloom. A shaft of flame struck out at her 
from the hearth and showed a would-be alertness in the baby- 
ish eyes. ‘‘Yes, yes,” she whispered. “I thought it was a 
lover I was seeking, a lover who had strong arms and tender 
words — but I was wrong — ’twas thee I sought, Ned, all 
through the weary night — and I want nothing now that I 
have found thee — and — Ned, wilt keep the ghosties off? ” 

“ Every one, little bairn. — Now, see how stained your 


76 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


gown is with — with rain. I shall not love you at all if you 
do not run and change it before you come with me to supper.” 

Not love me ! ” she repeated, with a look of doubt. — 

Why, then, Fll change my gown thrice every day, because 
you are kind to me. No one else is kind to me, Ned. The 
wind buffets me, and rude men turn me forth of doors when- 
ever I cross a threshold — save Sexton Witherlee, who was 
wondrous kind to me last night. All afternoon, Ned, I wan- 
dered about Marsh before I dared come in — I feared you 
would scowl at me, like the redmen of Wildwater.” She 
turned, and in a moment she was clapping her hands for glee. 
“ Look, look, Ned ! Pretty candles — see’st thou how the 
shadows go playing hide-and-find-me up the walls ? ” 

They’re bad shadows ; have naught to do with them,” 
said Shameless Wayne, turning her face to the hearth again 
and wondering to find what care he had for this frail woman’s 
malady. 

But she slipped from his hands, and ran forward to the bier, 
and was reaching out for one of the candles when its light 
showed her the pale face of Wayne of Marsh. The sight did 
not frighten her at all ; but she stood mute and still, as if she 
were trying to understand in dim fashion that once this man 
had been her husband. 

“ Would he answer if I spoke to him ? No, I think he 
would not; he looks too stern,” Wayne heard her murmur. 

I’ve seen that face — in dreams, long, long ago, it must have 
been. Perhaps he was my lover — strange that I should seek 
him all about the moor, when he was lying so quietly here.” 

“ Come away, little bairn. He has no word for you,” said 
her step-son, wearily. 

Mistress Wayne halted a moment, then stooped and kissed 
the dead man’s lips. And then she laughed daintily and 
rubbed her mouth with one forefinger. ‘‘ Why does he not 
care ! ” she lisped. His lips are cold as a beggar’s welcome, 
Ned — we’ll none of him, will we, thou and I ? ” 

The door behind them opened and Nell Wayne came 
slowly across the floor until she stood within arm’s reach of 
her step-mother. Scorn was in the girl’s face, and a hatred 
not to be appeased. 

What brings this woman here ? ” she asked. 

Mistress Wayne crept close to her protector. ‘‘All are 


THE BROWN DOG’S STEP 


77 

cruel except thou, Ned. Keep her from me — she will turn 
me out into the cold again.” 

Ay, Mistress — to starve of cold and want, if I had my 
way,” said Nell. 

Shameless Wayne put one arm about the pleading woman 
and turned upon his sister hotly. ‘‘ Canst not see how it is 
with her ? ” he cried. They say that men are hard, but 
God knows ye women make us seem soft-hearted by the con- 
trast.” 

The dead cannot speak, or father yonder would up and 
cry shame on her,” the girl answered, covering the pair of 
them with a disdainful glance. 

Nay, thou’rt wronging him. Had she been whole of 
mind, he might have done — but ’twas never father’s way to 
double any blow that fell upon a woman.” 

She shall not stay here ! ’Tis pollution,” cried Nell. 

‘‘ And I say the poor bairn shall bide here so long as she 
lacks a home ; and I am master here, not thou.” 

His sister stared open-eyed at him. Since last night he had 
been contrite to the verge of womanishness j but now he 
showed a sterner glimpse of the Wayne temper than she had 
looked for in him. She felt wronged and baffled, and for her 
life could not keep back the stinging answer. 

‘‘ Ay, thou art master,” she said slowly, and thou begin- 
nest well — first to let another fight for thee, and then to wel- 
come the betrayer with open arms. Small wonder that they 
call thee Shameless Wayne.” 

For a breathing-space she thought he would have struck 
her. But this lad, who until yesterday had never seen need 
to check his lightest whim, was learning a hard lesson well. 
He struggled with his pride awhile, and crushed it ; and when 
he spoke his voice was quiet and sad. 

‘‘ Nell,” he said, ‘‘ ’tis no fit place for brawling, and thou 
art right in what thou say’st of me. But Mistress Wayne 
shall bide, and not if all our kin cry out on me, will I go back 
on what I promised.” 

“ I am cold again, and very hungry. Send yond girl away,” 
wailed the little woman. 

‘‘ Does naught soften thee, lass ? ” said Wayne, glancing 
from his sister to the shrinking figure that held so closely fast 
to him. 


78 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


Naught,” Nell answered, hard and cold. ^^The years will 
pass, and sorrows age, may be — but I shall never lose my hate 
of her.” 

Yet think,” he went on patiently. She cleaves to me, 
Nell, and thou know’st how the fairy-kist bring luck to those 
they favour. ’Tis a good omen for the long fight that’s 
coming.” 

If pity does not move me, will a country proverb, think’st 
thou ? Have thy way, Ned, since there’s none to stay thee — 
but at the least take thy new friend from the death-room. 
Thou’lt see father turn and writhe if she stay longer by him, 
and ’tis my turn to watch the bier.” 

Let’s begone, little bairn. Haply thou’lt know here to 
find thy wearing-stufF if I take thee to the old room above,” 
said Shameless Wayne, leading his step-mother to the door. 

But Nell was fevered, and would not brook such prompt 
obedience to her wish. ‘‘Where are the lads ?” she asked. 
“ Frolicking, belike, when sober sitting within-doors would 
better have fitted the occasion.” 

Shameless Wayne turned on the threshold. “ I sent them 
hawking,” he answered, the new firmness gaining in his voice. 
“ There’s one claim of the dead, lass, and another of the liv- 
ing ; and ’tis better they should brace their muscle for the 
days to come than sit moping over what is past.” 

“ He grows masterful already. The shame has slipped 
clean off from him,” murmured Nell, as she took a pair of 
snuffers from the mantel and trimmed the death-candles. 

Yet Ned had not killed his shame. He was but battling 
with it, and the effort to show something like a man, in his 
own eyes at least, rendered his mood at once strangely tender 
and strangely savage. But he could find naught save tender- 
ness for Mistress Wayne, as they climbed the wide stairway 
hand-in-hand and went in at the door of what had been his 
father’s bed-chamber — his father’s and that of the little woman 
by his side. She was no longer an unfaithful wife ; she was a 
child, bewildered in the midst of enemies, and she had no friend 
but him. 

Mistress Wayne stood in the middle of the room, fearful a 
little and asking a mute question of her step-son. 

“ This shall be thy room. Nay, there’s naught to fear ! ” he 
said. “ Peep into the drawers yonder by and by, and thou’lt 


THE BROWN DOG’S STEP 


79 


find pretty clothes to wear; but thou’rt tired now, and must 
lie down on the bed. So ! Now Til cover thee snugly up, 
and bring thee meat. I doubt thou need’st it, bairn.” 

She was passive in his hands, and fell to crooning happily 
while he drew a great rug of badgerskin across her. ’Tis 
pleasant to have friends, and to be warm,” she murmured. 

Unless I hasten, thou’lt be asleep before I bring thee sup- 
per ! ” he cried. Rest quiet, and be sure Pll keep the bog- 
garts from the door.” 

He went quietly down again, feeling his own troubles lighter 
for this fresh claim upon his sympathies ; nor did he doubt the 
dead man’s view of it, since there was scarce man or woman 
on the moor who did not hold that madness cancelled all back- 
reckonings. 

“ I will see what is to be found in the kitchen ; haply the 
half of a moor-cock would tempt her appetite,” he thought, 
as he turned down the passage. 

He was met by his four brothers, just returned from hawk- 
ing. Their faces were flushed and their sturdy bodies panting 
with the hard run home. 

We’ve had rare sport, Ned ! Rare sport ! ” cried the eld- 
est, a lad of sixteen. And then, remembering who lay not far 
away, cold forever to sport of hawk or hound, he dropped his 
head shamefacedly. 

It has taken you far, I warrant ; for the sun has been down 
this half-hour past.” 

Ay, for at the end of all we fell to flying at magpies down 
the hedgerows toward Heathley, and yond unhacked eyes of 
mine at which thou jestest trussed seven. Peep in the kitchen, 
Ned, and see what game we took. We carried the goshawk, 
too, and she struck a hare up by Wildwater ” 

What ! Ye have been near Wildwater ? ” cried Shameless 
Wayne, his face darkening on the sudden. 

Ay, ’twas in one of the Lean Man’s fields we struck the 
hare — and, Ned, we saw such a queer sight up yonder. Just 
as I was going to cast at a snipe, Ralph here whispered that 
I the Lean Man himself was coming.” 

j So we hid in the heather,” put in Ralph eagerly, “ and he 

\ passed as close to us, Ned, as thou stand’st to me. He had a 
[ great cut across his cheek, and his hands were red, and we could 
! hear him laughing to himself in a way that made us feared,” 


8o 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


When the Lean Man’s hands are red, and his throat holds 
laughter, it means but the one thing,” muttered Shameless 
Wayne. He has killed his man — God pity one of our kin ! 
— and the feud is out before we looked for it. They’ll let the 
burying get done with — even a RatclifFe never did less than 
that ; and then ’twill be fast and merry.” 

‘‘Tush! We were not feared,” cried GrifF, the eldest. 
“ We could have caught him, Ned, the four of us, if we had 
had swords to our hands.” 

Shameless Wayne laughed quietly. “Ye will learn soon to 
buckle your sword-belts on whenever ye move abroad,” he 
said. “ Listen to me, lads. A house with a dead man in it 
is no healthy place, and so I bade you go out hawking this 
morning, and kept what I had to tell you until night. Ye’ve 
heard of the old feud of Wayne and RatclifFe ? ” 

“ Ay, have we ! ” said Griff. “ Such tales old Nanny With- 
erlee used to tell us of ” 

“Well, ’twill be out again, belike, soon as your father is 
buried. The Ratcliffes will kill us whenever they get a 
chance, and we shall kill a RatclifFe whenever he shows himself 
within sword-hail. And ye must take your share of it if ye 
wish to keep whole skins. Griff, thou canst play a shrewd ish 
blade even now ; and what ye lack, the four of you, I’ll teach 
you by and by.” 

“ Hawking will show tame after this,” cried Griff, his eyes 
brightening. “ Shall I meet the Lean Man one day, think’st 
thou, Ned ? ” 

“ If God spares thee, lad. But no more frolics yet awhile 
on the Lean Man’s land. Ye must keep close to home, and 
I will teach you cut and thrust until your arms are stiffened.” 

“Was it a RatclifFe who killed father? ” asked Ralph sud- 
denly. They had no understanding of death, as yet, these 
youngsters ; its sorrow glanced off from them, too vague and 
dark to oust their lads’ relish of a fight. 

“ Ay — and a Wayne who slew the murderer yesternight.” 

“ Why, then, ’twas thou I ” cried Griff. “ Old Nanny told 
us that the eldest-born must always fight the father’s enemy. 
Where didst thrust him, Ned ? ” 

Shameless Wayne grew hot, and the blood flushed red to 
brow and cheeks. “ Go seek your suppers, lads,” he said, 
turning on his heel, 


THE BROWN DOG’S STEP 


8i 


Going to the kitchen, still bent on finding some dainty that 
would tempt his step-mother, he found Nanny Witherlee, the 
Sexton’s wife, talking hard and fast to one of the maids. 

Th’ young Maister ’ull noan deny it me, I tell thee,” Nanny 
was saying. 

Then ask him, Nanny, and he’ll tell thee quickly whether 
or not he will deny thee,” said Shameless Wayne from the 
doorway. 

“ Sakes, Maister ! I war that thrang wi’ spache — though 
’tis noan a habit o’ mine — that I niver heard your step. I’ve 
corned up fro’ Marshcotes to axe a bit of a kindness, like.” 

Thou’lt win it, likely, for I’m in a softish mood,” said 
Wayne, half sneering at himself. 

’Tis that ye’ll let me watch th’ owd Maister th’ neet-time 
through. I knawed him when he war a young un, an’ I 
knawed him when he wedded th’ first wife, an’ I nursed ye all 
fro’ babbies. ’Twould be kindly, like, to let me sit by him 
this last neet of all.” 

‘‘ That was to be my care, Nanny. Dost want me to let a 
second chance slip by of honouring father ? ” 

Now, doan’t tak things so mich to heart — doan’t, lad, 
there’s a dearie — an’ I axe your pardon for so miscalling ye. 
I’m sure, seeing ye’ve grown out o’ nursing-clothes. Ye’ve 
getten a tidy handful o’ wark afore ye, an’ Witherlee says to 
me this varry afternooin, ^ Nanny,’ says he, ‘them RatclifTes is 
up an’ astir like a hornet’s nest; I’m hoping th’ Waynes ’ull 
bring swords an’ sharp e’en to th’ burying, for we can noan on 
us tell what ’ull chance,’ he says. That war what Witherlee 
said, just i’ so many words ; an’ though he’s like a three-legged 
stool about a house, alius tripping ye up wheniver ye stir, he 
can do part thinking time an’ time, can Witherlee. I war 
coming to axe ye afore he spoke, for I war fain to see th’ last 
o’ th’ owd Maister ; but I war up i’ a brace o’ shakes at 
after he’d gi’en me that notion, for I could see ’at a man 
wodn’t frame to fight varry weel on th’ top of a long neet’s 
wakefulness.” 

Nanny paused for breath, and the young Master took ad- 
vantage of a break that might not come soon again. “The 
RatclifFes will wait till after the burying. There’s scant need 
for aught save wet eyes to-morrow, Nanny,” he said. 

“Well, that’s as it mun be; an’ what mun be nowt ’ull 


82 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


alter, so we willun’t fash ourselns. But for owd love’s sake, 
Maister, ye’ll let me bide by thy father ? ’Tis long since I 
axed owt, big or little, of ye Waynes, an’ ye’ll noan deny it 
me, now, will ye ? ” 

Shameless Wayne, as he had said, was in a soft mpod, and 
Nanny’s sharp face was so full of entreaty that he saw it 
would be a bitter blow to her if he denied the boon. Have 
it as thou wilt,” he said. ^‘Father was always kindly in 
his thoughts of thee, Nanny, and it may please him better than 
any watching of mine could do.” 

Rolf Wayne of Cranshaw, meanwhile, had ridden over to 
Marsh to see if there were aught that he could do ; and Nell, 
meeting him as he came in at the hall door, gave him a warm 
welcome, for the late quarrel with her brother had left her sad, 
and the silence of the death-chamber fostered such sort of 
misery. 

Rolf, my step-mother has come back, and Ned has wel- 
comed her,” she said, after they had talked awhile of this and 
that in hushed voices. 

What ! Mistress Wayne come back ? ” 

“Yes, mad as a marshland hare, with all her old pleading 
ways so deepened that she has won Ned clean over to her 
side.” 

“ Fairy-kist, is she ? ” 

“ Aye — though, to my thinking, she was always near to it.” 

“ Then, lass, there’s no room for anger. Let her be ; ’tis 
ill-luck crossing such, and we have need ” 

“ An old tale, Rolf! ” she broke in stormily. “ Ned said as 
much awhile since — as though, God’s pity, there could good 
luck come of harbouring such as her. There ! I am dis- 
traught. Wilt watch the bier, Rolf, while I run out and cool 
my wits a little ? ” 

The night is over cold. Bide by a warm fireside, and 
talk thy troubles out to one who cares for thee.” 

“ Nay, I must be alone. Let me go, dear I I tell thee, my 
head throbs and throbs, and I shall go the way of Mistress 
Wayne unless thou’lt humour me.” 

She slipped a cloak about her, checking Rolf’s efforts to de- 
tain her, and went quietly out into the courtyard. There was 
a touch of winter in the air, and a touch of spring, and over- 
head the stars shone dewy. The girl shivered a little, but not 


THE BROWN DOG’S STEP 


83 


for cold, as she crossed into Barguest lane and saw a red moon 
climbing up above Worm’s Hill. Up and down she paced, 
up and down, thinking of Shameless Wayne, of her step- 
mother, of everything that vexed and harassed her. Nor did 
her brain grow cooler for the night’s companionship ; rather, 
the silence let stranger fancies in than she would have har- 
boured at any other time or place. 

Ned has such need to be strong, and he has ever been 
weak as running water,” she muttered, and stopped, and won- 
dered that the breeze which blew from the moor-edge down 
Barguest lane had grown so chill upon the sudden. 

Aware of some vague terror, yet acknowledging none, she 
held her breath and bent her ear toward the lane-top. A 
sound of pattering footsteps drifted down — they were close be- 
side her now, as the wind brushed her cloak — and now again 
the footsteps were dying at the far end of the lane. And a 
whine that was half a growl crept downward in the wake of 
pattering feet and icy wind. 

’Tis Barguest ! ” muttered Nell, and raced down the road, 
and across the courtyard, and into the hall where Wayne of 
Cranshaw sat watching by the dead. 

Her pride was gone now, and the last impulse of defiance. 
She waited no asking, but put her arms about Rolfs neck and 
bade him hold her close. 

I heard the Hound’s voice in the lane just now,” she 
whispered. ‘^There’s trouble coming on us, Rolf — more 
trouble — I never heard his step go pattering down the road so 
plain.” 

Didst never hear the water try its new trick, thou mean’st. 
I was a fool to let thee go and nurse thy fancies in such a 
spot,” said her lover roughly. But his eyes had another tale to 
tell, and across his brow a deep line of foreboding showed itself. 

‘‘Fancies go as soon as thought of, and naught comes of 
them — but when did I hear Barguest in an idle hour ? ” she 
said. “ Dear, I am ashamed — but — thou canst not hold me 
close enough — hark. There’s something at the door — a whin- 
ing, Rolf, and the scrape of paws against the oak ” 

“Ay, ’tis Barguest,” said Nanny Witherlee, stepping soft 
across the polished boards and resting one hand on the bier. 

“ There’s naught, save a wet wind sobbing through the 
firs,” growled Wayne of Cranshaw. 


84 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


‘‘ Is there not ? What say ye to that, Mistress ? Ye an’ 
me know Barguest when we hear him, an’ ’tis as I said to th’ 
young Maister awhile back. There’s sorrow brewing thick, 
an’ th’ Brown Dog hes come to bid ye look to pistol-primings 
an’ th’ like. He knaws, poor beast, an’ he’s scratting at th’ 
door this minute to ease his mind by telling ye.” 

Get to bed, Nell,” said Wayne of Cranshaw quietly ; 
when Nanny falls to boggart-talk, and the maid who listens 

is half mad with sorrow ” 

Tales is tales, Maister Wayne,” broke in Nanny, an’ I 
wod scare no poor less wi’ lies at sich a time — but Barguest is 
more nor a tale, an’ I should know, seeing th’ years I’ve bided 
here at Marsh. I mind th’ neet when Mistress Nell’s mother 
war ta’en, ten year agone, it war just th’ same — th’ Brown 

Dog came pattering right up to th’ door-stun, an’ ” 

God rest thee for the daftest fool in Marsh cotes,” cried 
Wayne of Cranshaw, as he saw Nell go ashen-grey and all but 
fall. And then he led the girl out, and helped her to the stair- 
top. 

There’ll be one to watch the bier till dawn ? ” she asked 
wearily, as he bade her good-night. 

‘‘Trust me to see to that. Never heed old wives’ tales, 
Nell, and keep up heart as best thou canst,” he answered, and 
went down again into the hall. 

Nanny was fingering the shroud softly, and scarce glanced 
up as Wayne approached. “ Gooid linen, ivery yard on ’t,” 
she muttered, “ though I says it as shouldn’t. Ay, an’ bonnily 
hemmed a’ all. Wayne o’ Marsh may lig proud, that he may, 
an’ I war alius sartin sure ’at a man gets a likelier welcome up 
aboon if he’s buried i’ gooid linen. — Begow, but his face is 
none so quiet as I should hev liked to see it ; there’s summat 
wick i’ th’ set on ’t, as if he wod right weel like to be up an’ 
cracking RatclifFe skulls.” 

“ Where is the Master, Nanny ? ” asked Wayne of Cran- 
shaw, cutting short her musings. 

“ He war dahnstairs a while back, for I met him as I war 
coming in here. But mad Mistress Wayne began to call out 
his name, an’ he thinks nowt too mich to do for her nowadays. 
He’ll be gi’eing her another bite an’ sup, belike.” 

“ Then who will watch ? I was for riding back to Cran- 
shaw, but if there’s need of me ” 


THE BROWN DOG’S STEP 


85 


Who’ll wake ? Why, who should wake save Nanny 
Witherlee ? Th’ Maister promised I should, for I axed him 
a while back ; so ye needn’t fash yourseln about that, 
Maister.” 

Then good-night to thee, Nanny — and — have a care of 
Mistress Nell, for she is in strange mood to-night. Barguest 
is well enough for a fireside gossip, nurse, but such talk 
comes ill when a maid’s spirits are low.” 

Nanny laughed softly, and pointed a lean finger at him as he 
stood halting near the door. ‘‘Ye do weel to mock at 
Guytrash, Maister, an’ ye do weel to give advice to one that’s 
known more sorrow nor ye — but why doan’t ye cross th’ 
threshold ? ” 

Wayne of Cranshaw was ashamed to feel the sweat-drops 
trickling down his face ; but he could not kill the fear that 
brought them there. 

“ They say a Cranshaw Wayne fears nowt, man nor devil,” 
went on the Sexton’s wife — “ but there’s one thing ’at maks 
his heart beat like th’ clapper of a bell — an’ ye dursn’t cross 
what ligs on th’ door-stun.” 

He put his hand on the door and flung it wide ; and the 
incoming wind drove the flames of the death-candles slant- 
wise toward the further wall. The moonlight lay quiet and 
empty on the threshold, and overhead the firs were plaining 
fitfully. “ There’s naught lies there,” said he with a chill 
laugh, and went to fetch his horse from stable. 

But Nanny’s eyes were fixed on the door long after Wayne 
of Cranshaw had pulled it to behind him — long after she had 
heard his horse trot up the road — and she seemed to see there 
more than the candle-light sufficed to show. 

“ Is there aught I can get thee, Nanny, before I wend to 
bed ? ” said Shameless Wayne, entering a half-hour later. 

“ Nowt, an’ thank ye. I’ve getten company, an’ they’ll 
keep me wake, I warrant.” 

“ They^ say’st thou ? God’s truth, Nanny, but thy eyes are 
fain of the doorway yonder ! ” 

“ Ay, I’ve getten th’ owd Maister, an’ I’ve getten Barguest. 
Get ye to bed, Maister, for I tell ye there’ll be need o’ ye to- 
morn. Ye’re ower late as ’tis.” 

“Mistress Wayne would have me go and sit by her; she 
could no way sleep, poor bairn, and it seemed to comfort her 


86 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


to have me at the bedside and to hold my hand. She’s sleep- 
ing now.” He bent over the dead, and whispered something ; 
and when he lifted his face it showed deep lines of purpose 
clean-chiselled in the youthful features. ‘‘ Good-night, nurse. 
God rest thee, and all of us,” he said, with unwonted piety. 

The candles were guttering in their sockets, and Nanny re- 
placed them soon as the lad’s foot had ceased to creak on the 
stair. All were abed now, save Nanny Witherlee — save 
Nanny, and the rats behind the wainscoting, and something 
that scraped restlessly at the stout door of oak. 

Why are they feared o’ Barguest ? ” muttered the Sexton’s 
wife. He niver yet did hurt to a Wayne or ony friends o’ 
th’ Waynes; nay, he’s that jealous for their safety ’at he can 
no way bide still when mischief’s brewing. Whisht, lad, 
whisht ! Owd Nanny hearkens, an’ she’ll mind ’at th’ 
Waynes go armed to th’ burial to-morn.” 

It might be twelve o’clock of that night, while Nanny sat 
still as the body she watched by, that Shameless Wayne, try- 
ing to win sleep from a hard pillow, heard a horseman ride up 
to the hall door. There were three strokes, as of a hammer 
on a nail, and then, before he had well leaped from bed, a 
voice came from the moonlight under his window. 

“Ride hard to Cranshaw Rigg. There’s somebody waits 
thee there, Wayne the Shameless.” It was Nicholas Rat- 
clhFe’s voice, hard and thin and high-pitched. 

Shameless Wayne snatched a pistol from the bed-head, and 
flung the casement wide, and saw the Lean Man riding hard 
up Barguest lane. He took a quick aim and pulled the 
trigger ; but old Nicholas rode on, and the moonlight showed 
him stark on the hilltop as he turned once for a backward look 
at Marsh. 

“So the hunt is up already,” said Shameless Wayne, bang- 
ing to the casement and getting to bed again. “ What has 
the lean rogue left on the door down yonder ? — well, we shall 
see to-morrow,” he muttered presently, turning over on his 
side. “ There’s naught gained by losing sleep — if only 
sleep would come.” 

But sleep did not come yet awhile, and his thoughts wandered 
to Janet RatclilFe — Janet, whom he had met to-day upon the 
moor — ^Janet, the daughter of that same Lean Man on whom 
he had just now turned a pistol-muzzle. 


THE BROWN DOG’S STEP 


87 


Nanny Witherlee, too, had heard the three taps on the door, 
and the Lean Man’s high-pitched voice. I know weel 
enough what he’s put on th’ door,” she said, not stirring from 
her stool at the bier-foot. Th’ owd feud began i’ th’ same 
way, an’ I mind to this day how th’ Maister, who cars so 
quiet yonder, looked when he came down i’ th’ morning an’ 
fund th’ token that war left nailed to th’ oak.” Her eyes lit 
up on the sudden, and a sombre mirth lengthened the thin line 
of her mouth. But one thing Nicholas RatclifFe didn’t 
know, I warrant — that Barguest war ligged on th’ door-stun ! 
He crossed th’ Brown Dog as he set nail to door, an’ a babby 
could tell what that spells. Sleep ye quiet. Shameless Wayne, 
for ye’ll turn th’ spindle that’s to weave th’ Lean Man’s wind- 
ing-sheet.” 


CHAPTER VII 


THE LEAN MAN’s TOKEN 

At dawn of the next day Shameless Wayne awoke from a 
troubled sleep, with Nicholas Ratclilfe’s visit fresh in his mind 
and a drear foreboding at his heart. He could rest no longer, 
but hurried into his clothes and went down to the shadowy hall, 
where the candles still burned and the Sexton’s wife still 
watched the dead. 

Didst hear Nicholas RatclifFe’s voice yesternight ? ” he 
said, coming close to Nanny’s elbow. 

‘‘ For sure I did.” 

‘‘ And the tapping on the door ? What was he at, think’st 
thou, Nanny ? ” 

Oppen th’ door, Maister, an’ ye’ll see. But doan’t look 
to find owt bonnie.” 

She watched him as he pulled down the latch and stepped 
into the rainy April dawn. The sun was red above Worm’s 
Hill and its light fell straight upon a man’s hand fixed to the 
upper cross-bar of the door. A broken stone, lying beside the 
lintel, showed how the Lean Man had driven his nail into the 
wood. Shameless Wayne fell back a pace or two, his eyes on 
the grisly token, while Nanny hobbled to the door. 

‘‘ Ay, I guessed as mich,” she said, looking once at the 
hand and thence to the young Master’s face. ‘‘Twenty year 
gone by it war th’ same, an’ I’ve heard tell that, long afore I 
war born or thowt on, th’ Lean Man’s grandfather rade down 
to Marsh one neet an’ fixed a Wayne’s hand to th’ door. Do 
ye mind th’ tale, Maister ? I telled it when ye war no higher 
nor my knee.” 

“ I had forgotten it, nurse. Yond is the badge of feud, 
then ? So be it. There’ll be sword-play, Nanny, soon as 
father is well laid to rest.” 

“Afore, I warrant,” said Nanny sharply. “Willun’t ye 
hearken to me, lad, when I tell ye that a devil sits snug behind 
ivery RatclifFe muzzle ? ” 


88 


THE LEAN MAN’S TOKEN 


89 


Save Mistress Janet’s,” muttered the other, absently. 

‘‘ Oh, th’ wind blows that road, does it ? I’ve thowt as 
mich, time an’ time. Maister, I war aye fond o’ ye, an’ that 
ye knaw — gi’e no heed to th’ lass, for all her bonnie ways. 
Ye cannot grow taties i’ mucky soil, anor father a right sort 
o’ love on a Ratcliffe.” 

“ Hold thy peace, Nanny ! who said I cared for Mistress 
Ratcliffe ? ” 

Your face, lad, said it. Theer! I’ve angered ye, an’ 
ye’ve enough as ’tis to put up wi’. — I war saying, Maister, 
that ye’ll niver bottom th’ meanness of a Ratcliffe, as I can 
do ; an’ when ye think ’at they’ll respect a dead man ony more 
nor a wick un, ye’re sore mista’en.” 

“ Nay, they’re an ill lot — but even the Lean Man would 
scruple to set on mourners at a grave-side.” 

‘‘ Trust an owd head, Maister. Witherlee put a plain 
question to Red Ratcliffe yestermorn ; he axed him fair an’ 
square if they meant to let th’ burying go by i’ peace; an’ 
he telled by th’ look o’ th’ chap ’at they meant to do no sich 
thing. — Lad, I’ll not axe ye to believe, for ye’ve getten your 
father’s trick o’ thinking th’ best of ony mon save yourseln ; 
but I will axe ye to humour an owd body’s fancy, and to send 
as quick as may be to your kin at Hillus, an’ Cranshaw to bid 
’em buckle their sword on afore they come to Marsh.” 

When did Marshcotes ever see armed mourners at a grave- 
side ? ” he said, eyeing her doubtfully. ’Twill wear a queer 
look, Nanny, if no attack is made.” 

‘‘ It ’ull wear a queerer, my sakes, if they come an’ cut ye 
all i’ little pieces. For owd sake’s sake, Maister, promise me 
ye’ll do it. Yond’s Simeon stirring at th’ back o’ th’ house ; 
I should know his step by now, for he walks as if one foot 
war flaired-like to follow t’ other. Bid Simeon get hisseln to 
horseback ” 

I doubt it still, nurse. What if the Lean Man has nailed 
his token to the door There’s time and to spare, by the 
Heart, for what will follow.” 

Fiddle o’ that tale ! ” cried the Sexton’s wife briskly. ‘‘ If 
ye choose to lig cold i’stead o’ warm. I’ve ta’en trouble 
enough wi’ ye i’ times past, that I hev, to warrant my stepping 
betwixt ye an’ ony sich-like foolishness. An’ if ye doan’t 
send Simeon, I’ll walk myseln both to Hillus an’ to Cranshaw 


90 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


— ay, that I will — Maister, do ye knaw ’at th’ Lean Man 
crossed Barguest last neet as iver war ? ” 

Shameless Wayne shook his head, smiling a little at the old 
woman’s fancy. How should that be, nurse ? ” he said. 

Barguest war carred on th’ door-stun, fair as if he’d been 
ony mortal dog; an’ while th’ Lean Man war agate wi’ ham- 
mering his nail in, I heard th’ hound whimper fit to mak ye 
cry for pity of him. But Nicholas Ratcliffe niver heard th’ 
poor beast, not he ; an’ I hugged myseln to think ’at ivery 
stroke on th’ nail-head war a stroke to his own coffin. Ye’ve 
getten your chance, Maister, an’ I willun’t let ye loss it for a 
lack of a bit o’ forethowt.” 

Insensibly Wayne yielded to the old beliefs ; reason might 
chide him, but he knew in his heart, from that time forward, 
that he would be even with the Lean Man before the end. 
What tales had Nanny not told him in childhood, of Barguest 
and his ways ? What musty traditions were not grafted on 
his growing manhood, of the certain disaster that waited any 
foeman of the Waynes who crossed the Spectre Hound ? 
Ay, he believed, and his eyes shone clear with the first light 
of hope that had touched them since he returned two nights 
ago to the Bull tavern, a sobered and heart-stricken man. 

‘‘There’s Nell!” cried Wayne on the sudden, pushing 
Nanny roughly into the house. “ For God’s sake keep her 
within-doors, nurse, till I have plucked down yonder trophy.” 

“ Sorrow’s a rare un to get folk up betimes ; how oft is 
Mistress Nell astir wi’ th’ dawn, I wonder ? ” muttered 
Nanny, as she returned to the hall, closing the door behind 
her. 

“ Good-morrow, nurse,” said the girl, crossing the hall and 
laying her two cold hands in Nanny’s. “ Art weary, belike, 
with the long watch ? ” 

The Sexton’s wife looked at Nell’s white face and red- 
rimmed eyes, and she could find no heart to answer; she just 
took the lass in her arms, and kissed her, and comforted her 
with such little wordless tendernesses as she had used when 
Nell had been frightened as a bairn. 

While they stood thus, still with no speech between them, 
a horse pulled up at the door, and they could hear the rider’s 
voice strike, deadened a little but clear, through the stout 
oaken planks. 


THE LEAN MAN’S TOKEN 


91 

The feud is up, lad ! When I rode home last night they 
had slain one of my folk on Cranshaw Rigg.” 

Ay, and the body lacked ” — came the voice of Shameless 
Wayne. 

God’s pity ! Wrench it down. ’Tis my brother’s hand, 
Ned,” broke in the first speaker. 

What is’t ? ” cried Nell, freeing herself from Nanny’s 
arms and turning sharply. “ That was Rolf’s voice — and Ned 
is with him — what are they doing, nurse ? ” 

Niver heed ’em, bairn — they’re nobbut ” 

“ Ay, but thou canst not blind me, Nanny ! I know ! I 
dreamed of it the night through — ’tis the old token father told 
me of so oft — ’tis a Wayne’s hand, nurse ! Did I not tell 
thee Barguest went pad-footed down the lane beside me ? ” 

‘‘ Now, whisht ye, mistress ! Your sweetheart’s safe, as ye 
can hear, an’ he’ll be in by an’ by — he’s coming now, an’ ye’ll 
noan want me, dearie, when he’s by to comfort ye. I’ll 
waken th’ wenches, an’ then I mun lig me down awhile, for 
there’s a lot needs seeing to this day.” 

Nell stood there idly until the old woman’s steps were lost 
among the restless echoes of the house. On a sudden the 
main door was thrown open, and Shameless Wayne came in 
alone. 

Why did not Rolf stay ? ” asked Nell. 

‘‘ Because I gave him a message for his folk at Cranshaw. 
Nay, I cannot tell thee what it was ; ’twould only scare thee. 
— Come, Nell ! I, too, have to get to saddle, and I fear to 
leave thee with such misery in thy face. Where are the lads ? ” 

Abed yet — wearied with their hunting.” 

They must not come to the kirkyard. Bid them keep 
close to home till we return.” 

But, Ned, why should they keep away ? ” the girl began. 
He stopped her, with the quiet, forceful air that she was 
learning to obey. Because I bid them,” he said, and kissed 
her lightly on the cheek, and went out to the stables. 

Nell crossed to the bier, where her father lay heedless of 
the storm and fret that his death had brought to old Marsh 
House. She sat her down, and put her face between her 
hands, and let her thoughts go drifting down the pathway of 
the years. From time to time the maids came in and busied 
themselves with setting out the table for the feast that would 


92 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


follow the old master’s burial in a few hours’ time ; but the 
master’s daughter seemed to heed them as little as himself. 
She thought of her brother, wondering at the change in him, 
yet doubting that the old wildness would return soon as the 
first keen smart of shame was softened ; she thought of Mis- 
tress Wayne, who was a guest here in the house which she 
had dishonoured in all men’s eyes j and then again she re- 
membered what had chanced in Marshcotes kirkyard, and told 
herself that surely a twelvemonth had hurried by since she 
went up to the belfry-tower with a knife close hidden under 
her cloak. 

Not two days ago she had watched the life ebb fast and red 
from the wound in her father’s back, while his murderer 
looked on and laughed ; and now he was ready for the grave ; 
and in between there had seemed no rest from the hurry of 
events. Dick RatclifFe had paid his price ; one of the Cran- 
shaw Waynes had fallen at the Lean Man’s hand ; the old 
feud-token had been nailed over the Marsh doorway ; and un- 
der all the present misery — the grief and fret and long-drawn- 
out restlessness that wait on burial — was the overshadowing 
sense of tragedy to come. To-day they would lay their dead 
to rest; and then the smouldering embers of the feud would 
leap to flame ; and after that no man nor woman of them all 
could count a day safe won through till it was done, and men’s 
lives and women’s honour would be no more than straws upon 
the fast-racing stream of chance. 

All this went back and forth in the girl’s mind, and the 
feud took on a hundred different shapes each time she 
thought of it. It was the feud she had heard of since ear- 
liest childhood, the feud whose memory was grafted in by 
many a far-back legend and nearer tale of fight. Often and 
often in the happier years she had wondered, as a girl will, 
how the way of it would be if the quarrel broke out afresh : 
there had been deeds of high courage and glamour of sword- 
thrust to make her almost love the feud and count it 
noble ; but now that it was on them, now that it hugged the 
very threshold, naked, terrible and brutish, she understood the 
reality and lost her dream-visions of the splendour and the 
majesty of fight. Fight meant gaping wounds, and blood upon 
the floor, and men going into the shadowy places when they 
were at the topmost of their strength. God knew that, if 


THE LEAN MAN’S TOKEN 


93 

the choice were hers, she would cry peace once and for all 
and let the dead past rest. 

Yet her mood changed like the gusty wind that whistled 
now and then across the chimney-stacks. No sooner had she 
let that eager prayer for peace escape her, than her hands 
clenched themselves, and her eyes brightened, and the old 
vengeance-cry of her people rose hot to her lips. Let blood- 
shed come, and slaughter — and she would take new heart as 
one by one the Ratclilfes fell. Never in all the years that 
they had been together had the likeness between the dead man 
and his daughter shown more plain than now, as she laid her 
hand on his and counted his wrongs afresh. The pride of 
her race, its pitiless sternness when wronged, seemed gathered 
from the long-dead generations who had fought the Wayne 
and RatclifFe fight aforetime ; and the hate of the fathers 
woke again to splendour and to savagery in the slender-sup- 
ple body of this last daughter of the line. 

She could sit still no longer, but got to her feet and crossed 
to the garden-door. The house-air stifled her; men fought 
under the open sky, and for that cause there was friendship 
in wind and sun and drifting clouds. Something like a 
prayer — a masterful prayer, and a bitter — rose to the girl’s lips 
as she stood and felt the keen wind in her face. 

Keep warm my hate. Lord God ! ” she cried. 

A light footstep sounded from the hall behind her. She 
turned and saw little Mistress Wayne bending over her fath- 
er’s body, with the same questioning, roguish air that she had 
worn last night. 

Wake, wake ! ” Mistress Wayne was lisping in the dead 
man’s ear. ’Tis my wedding-morn, I tell thee, and all at 
Marsh must come to see it.” 

Not touched at all was Nell by the piteousness of the 
scene. She remembered only what this woman had done, and 
forgot how hard a penance she was undergoing. 

Get ye gone,” she said, clutching her step-mother fiercely 
by the arm. Is’t not enough that you have killed him, but 
you must mock him after death ? ” 

Mistress Wayne shrank backward from her touch. “ I did 
but try to wake him, Nell. He would be angered if he missed 
my bridal-morn.” 

Nell made no answer^ but turned her back on the little 


94 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


woman; and Mistress Wayne crept, softly as she had come, 
out of the chamber whose guest perplexed her so. 

Her bridal-morn ! ” cried Nell, as though her father could 
hear that she was speaking to him. Is it for malice that 
she gowns herself in white on such a day, and prates of wed- 
dings ? Father, why didst go to the Low Country for a wife? 
She has brought disaster on disaster since the first day she set 
foot in Marsh.” 

A new thought came to her, adding its own load to the bur- 
den that was already over-heavy for her. Would Ned win 
free of his passion for Janet Ratcliffe, or would his marriage, 
too, be ill-fated as his father’s ? To wed from the Low 
Country was folly, but marriage between a Ratcliffe and a 
Wayne would be a crime on which the country-side would up 
and cry out shame. 

And then, in a moment, all the girl’s fierceness, her reso- 
lution and tearless pride, were lost. God had made her a 
woman, and like a woman she fell prone across the bier, and 
wept, and thought neither of vengeance nor of hatred, but of 
the love that had grown through twenty years of comradeship 
between the dead man and herself. It was not her father’s 
strength, his sweeping recklessness in fight, that she remem- 
bered now ; but she recalled his gentleness toward her, his 
clean and upright courtesy, his generosity to rich and poor 
among his neighbours. 

Marsh House was full of the unrest that goes before a 
burial, the fruitless wandering to-and-fro which seems to ease 
the sorrow of the living. The menservants were idling in the 
courtyard with a subdued sort of noisiness ; the maids were 
still passing and re-passing from the kitchen ; and Nanny 
Witherlee, unable to snatch more than the briefest spell of 
sleep, came hobbling by and by into the hall. 

The old woman stopped on seeing Nell stretched across 
the bier, and half advanced toward her ; then shook her head. 

I’ll let her be ; happen ’twill be best for her to cry her een 
out,” she muttered, and turned down the passage to the 
kitchen. 

Nanny showed different altogether this morning from the 
quivering, ghost-ridden watcher who had kept so long a vigil 
with only the dead and strange voices in the wind for com- 
pany. Then there had been no work to be done, no house- 


THE LEAN MAN’S TOKEN 


95 


hold cares to rouse the old instincts in her ; but now that prep- 
arations for the burial feast were going busily forward she 
slipped naturally into the place which had been hers at Marsh 
aforetime. Brisk as though she had had a full night’s sleep, 
she fell to doing this and that, rating the maids the while with 
a keenness that robbed the day of half its sadness for her. 

‘‘ Now then, ye idle wenches ! ” she cried, soon as she had 
crossed the kitchen threshold. “ Do ye think gaping at a 
mutton-pasty ’ull mak it walk to th’ dining board ? Martha, 
tha’rt alius mooning ower thy work like a goose wi’ a nicked 
head. An’ look at Mary yonder ! Standing arms under apron 
when th’ house ’ull soon be full o’ hungry folk. An’ th’ 
Waynes alius had good appetites, sorrow or no sorrow.” 

Nanny was setting parsley-sprigs round a dish of neat’s 
tongue all this time j and when this was done she climbed 
onto the settle and reached down piece after piece of haver- 
bread that was drying on the creel. The same instinct that 
had bidden her test the quality of Wayne’s winding sheet, 
while yet she was deep in sorrow for him, was with her now, 
and her mind was set on leaving no unremembered detail, of 
wine or meat or ripe October ale, to mar the burial-feast. 

It’s weel to do nowt, same as some folk ! ” she cried, 
stopping to glance sourly at the progress of the maids. ‘‘ I 
don’t know what wenches are made on nowadays, that I 
don’t.” 

Do nowt, my sakes ! When my knees is dibble-double- 
ways wi’ weariness,” cried Martha. 

Hoity-toity ! I’ve done as mich before breakfast ivery 
day o’ th’ week when I war a lass. — Mary, wilt gi’e me a 
hand wi’ this cheese, or mun I let it fall to th’ floor-stuns ? ” 
The maids, run off their feet already, without any help 
from outside, grew wild with the natter-natter of the Sex- 
ton’s wife -y but awe of her kept any but the briefest snaps of 
anger from their tongues, and it was a relief to both when the 
door opened slowly and they saw Hiram Hey standing on the 
threshold. Clean-shaven and spruce of body was Hiram, and 
a certain melancholy drooping of the mouth-corners could not 
quench his sober gaiety of mien. 

’Tis a sad day, this, for us at Marsh,” he said, thrusting 
his head forward and sniffing the air with unctuous wonder 
that the women could think of victuals at all at such a time. 


96 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


Nanny turned quickly. It willun’t be ony brighter for 
thy coming, Hiram Hey. We want no men-folk here/’ she 
cried. 

The maids looked from Nanny to the farm-man, and then 
at each other. There was a stiff breeze always when these 
two met, and Nanny was apt to find her match at such times. 

“Well, now, are yewinning forrard-like ? ” said Hiram, 
leaning against the doorway in his idlest attitude. 

“ Ay, an’ no thanks to thee,” snapped the Sexton’s wife. 

“ It beats me to kpow how folk can eat an’ drink, an’ 
drink an’ eat, when there’s a burying. It seems a mockery 
o’ th’ dead, that it does — as mich as to say, ‘ See what it is to 
be wick, lad ; tha’ll niver put victuals down thy throat again, 
same as I’m doing now.’ Ay, I’ve oft thowt it’s enough to 
mak a corpse turn round an’ scowl at ye.” 

“ I’ve seen thee at a burying, Hiram,” said the Sexton’s 
wife, quietly, “ an’ tha can do thy share. I’ve noticed. It’s 
all talk, an’ nowt but, wi’ sich as ye. Tha cannot see we’re 
thrang, mebbe ? ” 

His only answer was to shift his shoulder to a more easiful 
position against the doorway, and Nanny left him to it. At 
another time she would have had a sharper tongue for Hiram 
Hey, nor would his own responses have lacked their sting ; 
but the old Master’s influence had never been so strong as it 
was now, and a sense of seemliness — a fear, perhaps, of wak- 
ing the last sleep of him who lay so near to them — held even 
the rough tongues of these upland folk in check. 

Hiram glanced at Martha, soon as the little old woman had 
hobbled out to lay fresh dishes in the hall ; and Martha an- 
swered his glance in a way that showed there was an under- 
standing between them — as indeed there was like to be, seeing 
that Hiram Hey had been wooing her off and on these two 
years past. 

“ Hast been to th’ fields this morn ? ” asked Martha. 

“ Ay, iver sin’ th’ sun war up, lass.” 

“Tha’ll be dry, then, Hiram, at after thy morning’s work.” 

“ Dry, now ? Well, I wodn’t say just dry — but that way 
on a bit. I niver war a drinker myseln, as I telled shepherd 
Jose nobbut yesterday ; but there’s a time for iverything, an’ 
if I war to see a quart, say, of October frothing ower th’ lip 
o’ th’ mug ” 


THE LEAN MAN’S TOKEN 


97 


‘^Tha’d find a mouth to fit it? Well, an’ shall, says I,” 
cried Martha. 

Hiram stretched his limbs more lengthily before the peats, 
as a soothing gurgle from the pantry told him that Martha 
was already filling him a measure. She was back again by 
and by, with a brim-full pewter in her hands. 

‘‘Drink, lad Hiram; what wi’ work an’ sadness, there’s 
need for strong liquor here at Marsh,” she said. 

The firelight struck with a ruddy, softened sheen on the 
pewter as Hiram lifted it. He drank slowly, and his face 
was full of unwonted cheerfulness until he had set down the 
empty mug beside him. 

“ Theer ! It war gooid, Martha,” he murmured sorrow- 
fully, “but I doubt there’s nowt mich in it when all’s said. 
Drink is all varry weel, but there’s one ower i’ th’ hall yon- 
der who’ll niver warm to liquor again this side o’ Judgment. 
Nay, I’m fair shamed o’ myseln to be supping ale while th’ 
owd Maister ligs so cold.” 

He stopped and eyed the empty pewter ; and Martha, reach- 
ing across the settle-back, picked up the mug again. 

“ Tha’s getten too soft a heart, Hiram,” she said. “ Sup 
while ye can, an’ mak th’ most on’t.” 

“ Nay, nay. I’m no drinker. Plain watter is nigh th’ 
same to me as ale, an’ there’s no call for thee to fill afresh — 
leastways, I wodn’t say a full quart, tha knows.” 

But Martha was back again before he had well finished with 
his protests. “ Get done wi’ ’t, Hiram, afore Nanny comes 
back,” she whispered. “ She carries an ill tongue, does 
Nanny, when she finds life going too easy wi’ a body.” 

“There’s queer things bahn to happen,” said Hiram pres- 
ently. 

“By th’ Heart, I thowt there’d been queer happenings 
enough of late ! ” 

“ The shepherds telled me this morn that th’ RatclifFes is 
all a-buzz, an’ folk are shaking their heads all up an’ dahn th’ 
moorsides. Besides, th’ owd house here fair rustles, like, as 
I’ve known it do afore when trouble war i’ store. I tell thee, 
I can hear th’ boggarts creeping wick as scropels fro’ roof to 
cellar.” 

“ Hod thy whisht — do, now, for goodness sake. Tha 
flairs me,” cried Martha, glancing behind her. And then 


98 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


she clutched the farm-man by the arm with sudden terror. 

Look yonder, Hiram ! Look yonder ! ” she cried. 

• Hiram looked and started to his feet. Begow, I thowt 
’twar a right boggart this time,” he muttered. What ails 
th’ little body to move so quiet about a house ? ” 

Mistress Wayne, dressed all in white, with celandines at 
her breast and fair hair rippling to her waist, had come in 
from the garden and stood at the open kitchen-door; and she 
was smiling, carelessly and trustfully, on the frightened maids 
and on old Hiram. 

’Tis my wedding-morn,” she said, and Tve been to talk 
with the fairies, Martha. They say ’tis well to get the wee 
folks’ blessing for the bairns to come.” 

Hiram gave her a long glance, then looked away ; and an 
unwonted pity stirred him. Nay, I’ve no sorrow to waste. 
She’s made herself a nettle-bed, an’ she mun lig on’t,” he 
muttered. 

Come in. Mistress, come in, an’ warm yourseln a bit ; 
ye’re looking cold and wan, like,” cried Martha, recovering 
from her fright. 

Oh, no, that is not true. I peeped at myself in the well 
out there just now, and I thought that I had never seen a 
happier face. Hiram, thou must come to my wedding, too ; 
wilt thou ? ” 

Ay, Mistress — ay. I’ll come, choose what.” 

She smiled again, and waved her hand, and slipped away 
into the sunshine that shimmered over the wet flagstones of 
the yard. And neither Martha nor the farm-men found aught 
to say to one another for awhile. 

‘‘What dost mak of it? ” said Hiram Hey at last. 

“ Nay, I can mak nowt of it. But ’tis a drear start for a 
burial. Hiram, lad. Marsh is no healthy place just now, an’ I 
for one could wish to be weel out on’t. It isn’t th’ blood-shed 
I fear, an’ it isn’t th’ dead man yonder — but it’s th’ ghosts ! 
Tha’rt right when tha says they fair creep fro’ floor to garret.” 

A thought crossed Hiram’s mind — no new thought, either, 
but one that showed livelier than its wont now Martha was in 
such trouble. 

“ Tha’d be fain to change dwellings, like ? ” he ventured, 
putting a hand on her shoulder and half drawing her toward 
him. 


THE LEAN MAN’S TOKEN 


99 


Martha yielded to his touch, and a puzzled look came oyer 
Hiram’s face ; he had pondered over this last step for four- 
and-twenty months, and needed a twelvemonth longer in which 
to make sure of its wisdom. His doubts were settled, how- 
ever, by the intrusion of the Sexton’s wife, who stopped on 
seeing what was afoot and glanced from Hiram to the empty 
mug. 

‘‘So that’s what’s browt thee here, Hiram Hey?” she 
cried. “ Tha’rt a bonnie un to come talking o’ what’s 
seemly i’ a house o’ death ! First, to drink thyseln dizzy- 
crazy, an’ then to go prettying wi’ a wench that mud weel by 
thy own grandchild. Nay, I’ve no patience wi’ thee ; tha’rt 
owd enough to be thinking o’ thy own latter end i’stead o’ fly- 
by-skying wi’ lasses, an’ ” 

Hiram for once could find no answer, but stood ruffling the 
frill of hair under his clean-shaven chin and shifting his feet 
from side to side. 

“ I have talked with my cousin, Nanny,” came the Mas- 
ter’s voice from the door. 

Nanny turned and saw Shameless Wayne standing there, 
pale and quiet, with the straight downward rent between his 
brows which seemed to have been fixed there two nights ago 
for good and all. 

“ About th’ burying, Maister ? ” she queried eagerly. 

“ Aye. We are to go armed ; the word has been sent 
round.” 

“ Now God be praised ! Ye’re wise to list to what Bar- 
guest hes to tell,” said the Sexton’s wife, and forgot to rate the 
maids, forgot the fifty little household cares that claimed at- 
tention. 


CHAPTER VIII 


A STORMY BURIAL 

The Wayne vault lay open to the April sky, and throstles 
were singing in the stunted trees, as Sexton Witherlee, infirm 
of step and dreamy of eye, moved softly over the graveyard 
stones. He stopped when he reached the vault, set down the 
ladder he was carrying and stood looking at the clean-swept 
room below. 

‘^’Tis a sweet place, a vault, to my thinking,” he muttered. 

So trim and peaceable the folk lie, each on his appointed 
shelf, with never a wrong word betwixt ’em th’ twelvemonth 
through. Ay, ’tis quiet ligging, an’ th’ storms pass overhead, 
an’ ivery now an’ again there’s what ye mud call a stir among 
’em when a new shelf is filled an’ a new neighbour earned. 
Well, I’ve seen life a bittock, but I wod swop beds wi’ ony o’ 
these, that I wod.” 

A robin came and perched on the top rung of the ladder, 
and eyed Sexton Witherlee sideways with a friendliness which 
long following after the spade had bred. 

What, laddie, dost think I’m delving ? ” said the Sexton, 
chuckling feebly. Nay, there’s to be a better burying this 
morn nor raw earth gives a man. ’Tis bricks an’ mortar, 
robin, an’ a leaded coffin for sich as Wayne o’ Marsh. — Well, 
then, bide a bit till I’ve straightened all up down here, an’ then 
I’ll scrat thee up a worm or two for thy dinner.” 

He reached down one stiffened leg, twisted the ladder from 
side to side to make sure that it was safe, and began his slow 
descent into the vault. He passed his hand lightly over the 
stone doors that hid the shelves — lightly, and as if he loved 
each separate entry in this Book of Death. And all the 
while he talked to himself, soft and slow. 

“ There’s old Tom Wayne put to bed there — he war a rum 
’un an’ proper, they say, though he war dead a hundred year 
afore my time — an’ yond’s Ralph Wayne’s spot — well, he lived 

100 


A STORMY BURIAL 


lOI 


hot an’ he lived fast, did Ralph Wayne, an’ he died at two- 
score, an’ so saved a mort o’ sweating an’ unthankfulness. An’ 
now there’s th’ Maister come to join ’em ; I mind burying his 
wife ten years agone — ten years ! — an’ him to hev lived wi’ all 
his troubles until now. It ’ull by my turn next. I’m think- 
ing — th’ young ’uns come an’ they go, an’ it doan’t hold to 
reason that Sexton Witherlee should be spared to bury ’em for 
iver.” 

A broom stood in one corner of the vault, fashioned of 
heather-fagots bound to a stout handle of ash. Witherlee 
took the broom in his hands, and began to sweep up the rub- 
ble that lay about the floor. 

‘‘ Moiling an’ toiling, that’s all a man addles by keeping th’ 
life quick i’ him. I’m faired shamed o’ living when I come 
among so many decent, quiet bodies — ay, fair shamed,” mur- 
mured the Sexton, and rested on his broom, and looked up to 
find a broad face and a sturdy pair of shoulders hanging over 
the edge of the vault. 

“ How’s trade, Sexton ? ” said the newcomer. 

‘‘ Brisk, Jonas, brisk.” 

Well, what’s one man’s meat is another man’s poison, i’ 
a manner o’ speaking. ’Tis how ye look at things, I reckon, 
an’ there’s heads an’ tails on ivery good piece o’ money. So 
trade’s middling, is’t ? ” 

Oh, ay. Other trades grow slack, but ye cannot do with- 
out Sexton Witherlee i’ Marshcotes parish. That’s what I 
says to Parson a week come yestermorn. ‘ Parson,’ says I, 
‘me an’ thee hev getten likely trades. Folk alius need 
prayers, an’ they alius need burying. Crops fail time an’ 
time,’ I says, ‘ an’ sickness follows at after famine ; an’ that’s 
money i’ a Sexton’s breeches pockets,’ says I.” 

“ Mebbe tha’rt right, Sexton ; but I’d liefer live by putting 
sound liquor down folk’s throats nor be shovelling earth a-top 
of ’em when they’ve getten past meat an’ drink. But we 
munnot fratch, for we’re near neighbours — me at th’ Bull, an’ 
thee i’ th’ kirkyard hard by, an’ each to his own trade, says I, 
choose who hears me say ’t. — ’Tis a drear business, this o’ 
th’ Maister o’ Marsh. Th’ burying is fixed for twelve o’ th’ 
clock, they tell me.” 

“ Ay, sure ; he’ll be ligged i’ bed here all ship-shape, will 
th’ owd Maister, come a half hour after nooin.” 


102 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


He’s nobbut been laid out two days an’ less, hes he ? 
How should that come about, like ? ’Tis nobbut decent I 
alius did say, to give a corpse its full time on th’ bier — ’spe- 
cially a gentle-born corpse, that looks for so mich more atten- 
tion or a common un.” 

Nay, I’ve a fancy that they thowt they mud as weel get 
th’ burying done wi’ afore th’ RatclilFes war up to ony o’ their 
tricks. Leastways that war what Nanny telled me, an’ she 
war watching th’ body all last neet at Marsh. I’ve been 
fettling up a bit, an’ pondering a bit, an’ going ower th’ owd 
days. Eh, Jonas, but we shall see what we war meant to see 
afore th’ winter comes again.” 

“ What — fighting, dost think ? ” 

‘‘ Ay, we shall that. I’ve getten a tidy-parcel o’ Waynes 
down here, an’ I can reckon five o’ th’ Marsh lot, let alone t’ 
others, that fell by RatclilFe swords an’ Ratcliffe pistols, an’ 
there’s few knows as I do what a power o’ hate ligs ’twixt 
Wild water an’ Marsh. I tell thee, lad, it maks my owd blood 
warm to think o’ th’ brave times coming back.” 

I can niver stop wondering at thee, Sexton,” said Jonas 
Feather, settling his arms more easifully on his stick. Tha’rt 
a little, snipperty chap, as full o’ dreaminess as a tummit is 
full o’ watter; tha’s getten th’ rheumatiz i’ legs an’ shoulder- 
blades, an’ ivery winter brings thee browntitus, sure as Christ- 
mas. Yet here tha stands, an’ I can see thy een fair blaze 
again when tha talks o’ fighting. Hast iver seen owt o’ th’ 
sort, or is’t just fancy, like ? ” 

The Sexton laughed, a dry and feeble laugh. I’ve seen 
part blood-letting, Jonas ; an’ ivery neet as I sit i’ th’ settle 
after th’ day’s moil is owered wi’, I go backard i’ my thowts. 
Small wonder that I’m gay, like, to think that soon there’ll be 
a fight to butter my bread at ivery meal-time.” 

Well, ’tis best for plain chaps like thee an’ me, Sexton, to 
let ’em settle it among theirselns. Poor folk mun live, I 
alius did say, an’ if tha addles a bit by burying, I willun’t 
grudge it thee. — Will th’ burying go forrard peaceable-like, 
dost think ? ” 

Nay, I couldn’t tell thee. Like as not there’ll be a fight 
on th’ way fro’ Marsh to th’ kirkyard here. — Now, Jonas, hod 
th’ stee-top while I clamber up,” broke off the Sexton, throw- 
ing up his broom and setting one foot on the bottom rung of 


A STORMY BURIAL 


103 

the ladder. “ There’s this an’ there’s that to be looked to, an’ 
it’s gone eleven a’ ready.” 

“ Sakes, tha doesn’t mean it ! An’ here I stand cracking 
wi’ thee i’stead o’ smartening up th’ sarving-wenches down at 
th’ Bull yonder. — I’m noan for saying it doan’t breed custom^, 
mind ye, Witherlee, this senseless sort o’ fratching ’twixt th’ 
gentlefolk. They’ll be coming fro’ far an’ wide to see th’ 
last o’ th’ owd man, for all th’ moorside war varry friendly to 
him; an’ ’tis nobbut fitting ’at them as comes to mourn 
should be warmed a bit i’ th’ innards at after th’ job is done wi’.” 

‘‘Well, there’s part folk hereabouts who care nowt whether 
they’ve getten warm drink or cold or none at all ; an’ that, 
mind ye, shows a sight more sense nor us poor shammocky 
chaps above ground hev to show for ourselns,” said Witherlee, 
as he picked up his broom and cast a lingering glance of affec- 
tion on his “ tidy bits o’ graves.” 

“Shameless Wayne is sobered by this time. I’m thinking,” 
dropped Jonas, walking pace for pace with the Sexton down 
the path that led to the tool-house. 

“ He’s getten a gooidish heart, hes th’ lad, an’ this may 
weel be th’ making of him.” 

“ Ay, he left me drunk t’ other neet, an’ he came back i’ a 
two-three minutes after sober ; an’ when a man gets skifted 
out o’ liquor so speedy like, he gets a sort o’ hatred on ’t. 
Leastways, that’s what I’ve noticed more nor once, an’ I 
reckon it hods gooid at most times.” 

The Sexton’s robin, seeing the chance of dinner going by 
in spite of all its shy attempts to claim attention, hopped boldly 
on to Witherlee’s arm. 

“ Now look at that, Jonas ! ” he cried, “ I thowt I niver 
forgot a promise, an’ here hev I been so thrang wi’ talking o’ 
what’s past an’ what’s to come that I war all but going off 
without gi’eing robin redbreast his bit o’ meat. Look at th’ 
little chap ! He fair speaks wi’ yond wick een o’ hisn, an’ his 
feathers is all piked out to show ’at his belly is cold for 
hunger. Well, it taks all sorts to mak a world, an’ I niver 
did see ’at redbreasts war ony way less to be thowt on nor us 
bigger folk ; both sorts go on two legs, an’ both turn their 
legs toes-uppermost one day, choose how th’ wind blows.” 

“ Ay, there isn’t much to choose when it comes to th’ latter 
end.” 


104 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


‘‘ Well, ril be bidding thee good-day, Jonas,’’ said the Sex- 
ton, turning down to the shed. “ I man put th’ broom away, 
for I doan’t like to see more tools about a kirkyard nor need 
be ; an’ then I’ll turn up a two-three worms for th’ robin. He 
alius looks on at a burying, does redbreast, an’ I like to think 
he’ll be well lined i’ th’ innards — it makes a burying more 
pleasurable, like.” 

Jonas, after nodding a farewell to the Sexton, sauntered 
down to his tavern, his hands in his pockets, as if there were 
ample time for everything in this world ; and, though he would 
bestir the maids presently with a rough hand and a rougher 
tongue, he saw no cause to hurry. 

Hast been to hev a look at th’ vault, Jonas ? ” said a 
farmer from over Wildwater way, who was just going in for a 
mug of ale as the landlord entered. 

Ay. All’s ship-shape, an’ as neat as a basket of eggs. We 
shall see a big stir, I reckon.” 

“ A bigger stir nor ye think for, mebbe,” said the other. 

‘‘ What dost mean, lad ? ” 

Nay, I can’t rightly say — only that when I war crossing 
th’ moor ower by Wildwater a while back, I see’d a band o’ 
Ryecollar RatcliflFes come riding up to th’ Lean Man’s door. 
Their sword-belts were noan empty, awther, an’ they war 
laughing.” 

Laughing, war they ? There’s a saying that when a Rat- 
clifFe laughs, there’ll be wark for th’ Sexton. How mony strong 
wod they be, like ? ” 

Six or seven, so far as I could reckon ’em up.” 

Ay, it looks bad — it looks bad, an’ I’m noan for denying 
it. Owd Witherlee war cracking o’ summat o’ th’ sort, too, 
not mony minutes sin’. Well, there’s none i’ th’ moorside 
but what wishes well to th’ Waynes, if it come to a tussle — 
though I wodn’t hev th’ Lean Man hear me say ’t.” 

The folk were gathering meanwhile in the graveyard. Some 
came in by the gate at the village end, others by the wicket 
that opened on the moor. All wore the air of sober merri- 
ment which a burying never fails to bring to the faces of the 
moor-folk ; all clustered about the vault, and chattered like so 
many magpies, and turned to ask Sexton Witherlee, when he 
came from feeding his robin, a hundred silly questions as to 
the disposal of the coffins. These were holiday times for the 


A STORMY BURIAL 


105 


moorside, and their real sorrow for the sturdy, upright master 
of Marsh House served only to add a more subtle edge to their 
enjoyment. 

They were festivals for Witherlee likewise ; and, though 
the Sexton held that pride became no man, seeing what he 
must come to in the end, he always bore himself more youth- 
fully at a burial and looked his fellow-men more squarely in 
the face. This was his workshop, and it pleased him that 
his lustier fellows, who were proud of their skill at farming or 
joinering or the like, should see that he, too, man of dreams as 
he was, could show a deft hand at his trade. 

Gossip grew rife as the knot of sight-seers increased. One 
would tell a tale of the old days when Waynes and RatclifFes 
fought at every cross-road, and another would cap the narra- 
tive with one more fearsome. The women talked of the good 
deeds that Wayne of Marsh had done, of the tidy bit o’ brass 
his coffin had cost, of the mad pranks that Shameless Wayne 
had played in times past. The children played hide-and-seek 
among the graves, or crept to the vault-edge and peered down 
in awed expectation, awaiting they knew not what of such 
terrors as their mothers had taught them to associate with the 
dead. The grown lasses came with lavender in their aprons, 
and sprinkled the vault-floor with the lovesome herb, and sent 
up a prayer to the unknown and dreadful God who dwelt 
amid the peat-wastes and the bogs — a prayer that they might 
escape this last close prison until wedlock had given them 
bairns, lest the curse of the women who were buried with 
empty breasts should light on them. 

‘‘ Th’ corpse is coming ! ” some one cried on the sudden. 

The chatter ceased, and all eyes sought the yew-shadowed 
turning of the pathway. Shameless Wayne, his cousin Rolf 
and two others carried the coffin at shoulder height. In front 
walked the Parson, his white hair ruffied by the breeze ; be- 
hind them followed a score of kinsmen, the Long Waynes of 
Cranshaw over-topping all the others by a head ; and behind 
these again walked a line of farm-men and of women-servants. 

Good sakes, they’ve getten swords an’ pistols ! ” muttered 
one of the onlookers, as the crowd made a clear lane to the 
kirk-porch. 

By th’ Heart, who iver heard tell o’ folk coming armed to 
a burying ! ” cried another. ‘‘ There mun be summat more 


io6 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


going forrard nor we’ve ony notion on. Look at Shameless 
Wayne! God keep me an’ mine fro’ seeing sich mortal 
anguish i’ a lad’s face again I He looks fair mad wi’ grief.” 

He’s getten cause. Hast noan heard that he war droughen 
while Nanny Witherlee war ringing for his father? Nay, 
he’s a slow-to-blush un, an’ proper, an’ I wonder he’s getten 
grace enough to come sober to th’ grave. — Stand back, childer ! 
Willun’t ye be telled ? Or mun ye bide i’ th’ gate till they 
bury ye wi’ th’ coffin ? ” 

The children shrank back, curiosity killed by fright, and the 
bearers moved slowly up the path until the grey church hid 
them. Tongues were loosened again, and Jonas Feather, 
coming up with the information he had gleaned from the 
farmer from Wildwater way, was beset by a clamorous knot 
of folk. 

‘‘ Ay, I war sure there war summat out o’ th’ ordinary — 
see’d th’ Ryecollar Ratcliffes crossing th’ moor, tha says, 
Jonas ? — Well, I mind th’ owd days, but there war nowt so 
outrageous as this shows like to be — theer, hod thy whisht I 
They’re coming fro’ th’ kirk.” 

Again a lane was formed, from the porch to the vault where 
Sexton Witherlee was waiting with his ropes. The wind was 
at peace, and its soft stir among the budding leaves mingled 
with song of redbreast and love-pipe of the throstles. A 
faint odour of lavender crept upward from the vault, suggest- 
ing quiet and fragrant hopes for better days to come. Yet 
the hush that settled over the watching crowd had little rest 
in it, and it was plain by their laboured breathing, as the cof- 
fin was lowered by the creaking ropes, that none looked for a 
peaceful end to a burial that counted sword and pistol as 
mourners. 

Amongst his kin, grouped thirty strong about the vault 
with set faces and hands on sword-hilts. Shameless Wayne 
stood noticeable ; for his head was bent and the tears streamed 
down his cheeks unheeded. Not until now had the lad reck- 
oned the full total of his past misdoings, nor known how 
shame can eat the manhood out of bravery. 

‘‘ Dust to dust, ashes to ashes,” said the Parson, in the ring- 
ing voice that seemed a challenge to grim Death himself. 

But another than Death took up the challenge. Swift out 
of the moor a cry of Ratcliffe, Ratcliffe ! ” answered him. 


A STORMY BURIAL 


107 

and the crowd gave back on the sudden, leaving the thirty-and- 
one Waynes to turn face about, whipping their swords free of 
the scabbards. Down through the wicket-gate trooped a score 
of RatclifFes, yelling their name-cry as they came. A moment 
they halted, for they had looked to find the Waynes unarmed; 
but the Lean Man cursed them forward. 

Shameless Wayne looked up at the first cry ; his pale face 
went ruddy, his eyes lit up. It was a welcome intrusion, this, 
on the sour trend of his thoughts, and he, who had shown 
most womanish among them, was now the leader of them all. 

A Wayne ! In at them, lads ! A Wayne, a Wayne ! ” 
he called, and leaped at the Lean Man, and sliced his left ear 
level with the cheek. 

Old Nicholas groaned with pain, then forced a laugh and 
lifted his big two-handled sword above the head of Wayne of 
Marsh. But the Waynes came pushing upward from behind, 
and their leader was thrust against a gravestone on the left 
hand of the path, while a kinsman took the Lean Man’s blow 
on his own uplifted blade. And after that Wayne mixed with 
RatclilFe, and Ratcliffe closed with Wayne, all up and down 
between the graves, till there was no grass-green footway 
’twixt the headstones but was rubbed black under the shifting 
feet of swordsmen. The crowd fell back for fear, or moved 
a few steps forward for awe according as the fight swept 
toward them or away. One against one, or one against two, 
it was, from the church porch to the field-wall, from the moor- 
wicket to the Bull ; there was no space for a massed fight, and 
each man sought his special foe and followed him in and out 
until church-wall, or upreared cross, or spiked hedge of thorn, 
stopped pursuer and pursued and left no issue but the sword. 

Sexton Witherlee found his youth again as he stood just un- 
der shelter of the porch, and watched, and rubbed his shriv- 
elled hands together. The old stuff worked in him, and he, 
who had seen Wayne fight with Ratcliffe more than once, 
thanked God that the sweetest moil of all had been kept to 
lighten his last steps to the grave. His eyes went from group 
to group, from thrust to nimble parry, until the kirkyard held 
naught for him save the dancing shimmer of grey steel. The 
cries redoubled, and Ratcliffe ” went in the teeth of ‘‘Wayne ” 
all down the pathway of the breeze ; yet the Sexton knew, 
from the snarl that underlay each Ratcliffe voice, from the 


io8 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


crisp fury of the Wayne-cry, that the Wildwater folk were 
going down like windle-straws before their foes. The Rat- 
cliffes took to their pistols then, and hid behind gravestones, 
and sent red streaks of flame across the mist of whirling steel ; 
but they had no time to reload, and hurry steered their bullets 
for the most part amiss, and the Waynes, disdaining powder 
at all times, hunted them from their cover like rats from out a 
barley-mow. Above all shouts, of onset or of mortal anguish, 
a lad’s voice struck clear into the blue belly of the sky. 

No quarter, Waynes! In at them, and rip from heel to 
crown I ” 

Sexton Witherlee moved forward from his porch. Yond 
war Shameless Wayne’s voice. God, but he’s getten th’ 
fighting-fever as hot as iver I see’d a man tak it. Th’ Lean 
Man ’ull carry a sore head back to Wildwater, I’m thinking — 
if he’s spared. — There th’ lad is I Sakes, but he’s getten his 
hands as full as they’ll hod, an’ no mistak ! ” he broke off, 
straining his eyes toward the half-filled strip of graveyard be- 
neath the Parsonage which he was wont to call his bit o’ 
garden.” But Nicholas RatclifFe was ever prudent in his hottest 
fury, and he saw that the fight was all against his folk. The 
long night of anguish was over for Wayne’s son of Marsh, and 
the rebound from it had filled his veins with something more 
like the light fires that played across the boglands than with 
slow-moving blood ; his pace was the wind’s pace, and the 
fury of his onset put life into the sword-arms of each Wayne 
that heard his lusty battle-cry. Back and further back the 
RatclifFes shrank, till the Lean Man’s voice was heard, bidding 
them retreat fighting to the moor-gate and then escape as best 
they could. 

^‘No quarter! ” came Shameless Wayne’s trumpet-note, as 
he chased them to the nearest wicket. 

But pursuit could go no further, for the pursuers were all on 
foot and a moment saw the RatclifFes mounted on the horses 
which they had tethered to the graveyard hedge. Shameless 
Wayne plucked out his pistol then, and laughed as a yell from 
one of the retreating redheads followed his quick pulling of the 
trigger. Then he turned back sharply, for the sound of run- 
ning feet came up the path ; re-entering by the wicket, he was 
met full by three RatclifFes, left behind by their fellows in the 
wild rush for safety. 


A STORMY BURIAL 


109 

Wayne never halted, but drove down on them, his sword 
uplifted ; and they, three to one, fell back in panic almost on 
to the points of the upcoming Waynes. 

Hold olF! They’re mine,” cried Shameless Wayne, waving 
his folk aside. 

Up and down he chased them, and up and down they ran, 
doubling behind gravestones or running hare-footed across 
open ground ; for this lad, whom they had laughed at as a 
drunkard and a fool, seemed godlike in his fury. The Waynes 
held every outlet, and all watched the grim chase silently. 
And then Shameless Wayne’s opportunity came; the three 
were running altogether now, and one tripped up the other, 
and Wayne was scarce a sword’s length from them. 

‘‘ I have them — ” he began, and lifted his right arm. 

But the open vault yawned under them before their brute 
terror showed where this second danger lay. They reeled at 
the edge and half recovered, then dropped to the paved floor 
beneath, where the coffin lay where Witherlee had dropped it 
at the first onset. 

Shameless Wayne, mad with the swift onset and the crash 
of blows, stood laughing at the edge and beckoned to two of 
his folk. Roof them over, and let them rot there,” he cried, 
kicking the ringed vault-stone with his foot. 

The crowd shrank back, and even his own people were af- 
frighted by the wild command. None knew — none guessed, 
save Sexton Witherlee, watching from the porch — what fury 
of despair, and shame, and bitterness, had gone to the making 
of this brute mood of the lad’s. Nor was he in case to won- 
der at himself; for the one moment he wished naught in 
heaven or earth save to see the flat stone ring down on those 
who would have done honest men to death by treachery. 

‘‘ Why do ye draw back, ye fools ? ” he cried. “ Is it a 
time for maidishness, or do ye want ” 

‘‘ Stay, lad ! Thou’lt think better of it in a while,” said 
Rolf Wayne of Cranshaw, touching him on the shoulder. 

While he halted, glowering from his folk to the stone, and 
from the stone to the RatclifFes who lay, maimed and dumb 
with terror, over his father’s coffin, a frail little body, robed 
all in white, stepped quietly to his side. 

“ ’Tis my wedding-day, Ned,” she said piteously, and all 
the folk have come to mock at me, pretending ’tis a burial. 


no 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


What art doing here ? Surely thou’lt come to church and 
help me find my lover there. Thou hast ever been kind to 
me when others mocked.” 

Shameless Wayne was silent for a space; and then, he 
knew not why, his mood swung round, and grief rushed thick 
to eyes and throat. He took the shivering woman by the 
hand, and turned, and led her down the path. Come home, 
little bairn; ’tis over late to see thee wed to-day, but by and 
by we’ll see to it,” he said. 

She went with him quietly, her face brightening as she 
clung close to his arm. And all the folk crossed themselves, 
and held their peace, and watched the strange pair go out at 
the churchyard gate. 

“What’s to be done with these?” said Wayne of Cran- 
shaw, after a long silence, pointing to the vault. 

“They shall not foul a Wayne vault, at any rate,” said a 
kinsman. “ Poor hounds ! See how they tremble — they’re 
scarce worth the killing. Up with them, lads, and if they can 
stand at all, we’ll set them free to cross to Wildwater.” 

“ Ay, I warrant ye will,” murmured Sexton Witherlee, who 
had moved to the grave-side. “ But would the RatclifFes have 
done the like to ye in such a case ? — Well — pity comes wi’ 
gooid breeding, I reckon, an’ ’tis noan for us poorer sort to 
teach ye better — but these three may live to plague ye yet.” 

All were gone at last — all save Parson and Sexton, who 
stood and looked, one at the other first, and afterward across 
the kirkyard. The sun was silver under grey rain-clouds 
now ; a wet drift of mist came with the westward wind ; no 
throstle sang, but the peewits came wheeling, wheeling, cry- 
ing, crying, from across the moor, and far up above a sentinel 
vulture flapped wings and watched the unburied dead who lay 
with their faces to the rain. 

The Sexton had been round the graveyard once again. His 
battle-glee had left him, and a soft light was in his face as he 
leaned against a headstone and watched the Parson, who stood 
as he had left him, his head bent in prayer. 

“ ’Tis a drear day’s work, Witherlee,” said the Parson, lift- 
ing his eyes at last. 

“ A drear day’s wark. Parson — but sweet as honey while it 
lasted. Praise God there’s nobbut one Wayne killed — one o’ 
th’ Hill House lot, he is, an’ he ligs up by th’ wicket yonder. 


A STORMY BURIAL 


III 


An’ praise God, says I, ’at there’ll three RatclifFes niver trou- 
ble Marshcotes wi’ their tricks again ; one of ’em is stretched 
at th’ wall-side there, an’ another under th’ Parsonage. — I 
see’d th’ stroke that cleft yond last — cleft him fair like a hazel- 
nut.” 

The Parson eyed his Sexton gravely, and would have 
spoken ; but Witherlee’s soft-moving voice crossed his own 
before the first word was well out. 

Now, Parson, I can see by th’ face on ye that ye wod 
liefer I read a sarmon nor a frolic i’ all this ; an’ so I do, 
when I can frame to gi’e my mind to ’t. ’Tis noan th’ blood- 
shed itseln ’at pleasures me — for I’m soft wi’ pity when I 
come to see ’em lying cold — but th’ blows. Parson ! Th’ 
swing o’ well-fed thews, an’ th’ dancing flicker o’ live steel, 
an’ a man standing up to death wi’ belly-deep laughter i’ his 
throat ! I may be wrang, mind ye — there’s few as isn’t time 
an’ time — but I wod gi’e five years o’ life to watch this moil 
all ower again, and to see Shameless Wayne show how the 
old breed strikes.” 

“ Vanity, Witherlee — all is vanity, save prayer, and chas- 
tening of man’s pride. Hast pity for the dead, thou say’st ? 
Ay, but that should sober thy zest in what went before.” 

Yet th’ pity is war nor t’ other, being foolish altogether,” 
said the Sexton reflectively, for I alius did say ’at there’s 
greener grass, an’ sweeter, grows ower a dead man’s grave nor 
under his living feet. But there’s a winding-sheet for all, so 
we munnot complain.” 

“ Soften thy heart, for God’s mercy’s sake, before the end 
overtakes thee. Art hard, Witherlee, hard, with never a hope 
beyond the grave.” 

‘‘We’ll noan fratch. Parson,” said Witherlee slowly. 
“ Ye’ve learned all fro’ Heaven and Hell ; but I’ve learned 
fro’ gooid, strong soil — what me an’ ye came fro’, an’ what 
we mun go back to i’ th’ end. It sticks, does kneaded earth, 
an’ when ye’ve lived husband-to-wife wi’ ’t i’ a manner o’ 
speaking, ye get to look no forrarder.” 

The Parson sighed. It was but an old argument with a 
drear new setting. “ Earth holds earth — but it cannot hold 
the soul,” he said, wearily a little, and as if foredoomed to 
plead in vain. 

“ That’s as may be,” said Witherlee, in the low, even voice 


II2 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


that had likewise been taught him by his trade. I niver hed 
no dealings, so to say, wi’ th’ soul ; Fve knawn buryings but 
no risings — save when th’ ghosties stir up an’ down among 
th’ graves, as they will do time an’ time. An’ th’ ghosts ’ud 
seem to hev won no further off nor Marshcotes kirkyard.” 

Art full of vain superstition, Witherlee. The soul thou 
doubtest ; but ghosts, in which no God-fearing man need be- 
lieve ” 

Theer ! ” said Witherlee patiently. I alius said there 
niver wod be any sort of argreement ’twixt me an’ ye, though 
we jog on together. Ye live nigh th’ kirkyard. Parson, but 
ye doan’t live in it, as I’ve done — ye hevn’t learned tW feel of 
a graveyard, or ye’d niver say nay to th’ soft-footed ghosties. 

Why, only last back-end, I mind, I see’d ” 

The Parson shivered. I am sick, Witherlee, with all 
that has chanced, and my knees are weak under me. I will 
bid thee good-day, and wish thee a softer heart,” he said, mov- 
ing up the pathway. 

Good-day to ye. Parson. I fear I’m ower owd to mend 
— but I trust ye’ll be no war for this day’s moil.” 

The Sexton watched him go, a weak and bent old figure, 
until the Parsonage gate closed behind him. Then he sat him 
down, and filled a pipe, and forgot to feel for his tinder-box 
as the memories of the day came back to him. The rain was 
dropping, and the wind was gathering chill. 

Begow, ’tis still an’ lonesome, at after all th’ racket,” he 
murmured. “ Poor Parson ! He wodn’t gladden a pulse- 
beat, I’ll warrant, if all th’ lads i’ Marshcotes fell to fighting. 
Well, there’s men like that, just as there’s men ’at cannot 
stomach honest liquor — an’ Lord help both sorts, say I. — 
Well, I mun mak th’ most o’ th’ quiet, for they’ll come for 
yond bodies by an’ by. — By th’ Heart, how Shameless Wayne 
cut an’ hacked ! He’ll be a long thorn an’ a sharp i’ Nicholas 
RatclifFe’s side, will th’ lad. Eh’ how he clipped th’ Lean 
Man’s ear ! God rest him ! ” 


CHAPTER IX 


A MOORSIDE COURTSHIP 

The last week of March had seen rain, snow and hail ; had 
felt the wind shift from brisk North to snarling Southeast, 
and from warm, rain-weighted South to an Easterly gale such 
as nipped the veins in a man’s body and daunted the over- 
hasty green of elderberry and lifted the wet from ploughed 
fields as speedily as if a July sun had scorched them. From 
day to day — nay from hour to hour — the farm men had not 
known whether they would shiver at the hardest work or 
sweat with the easiest 5 the moist, untimely heat of one day 
would plant rheumatism snugly in their joints, and the bitter 
coldness of the next would weld it in. Nature was dead at 
heart, it seemed, and whether she showed a dry eye or a tear- 
ful, her face wore the dull greyness of despair, as if her thews 
were too stiffened and too lean with age to rouse themselves 
for the old labour of bringing buds to leaf, and kine to calv- 
ing. 

And now on a sudden all was changed. The wind blew 
honest from the West, and even in shadowed corners it kept 
no knife in waiting for man and beast. The sun shone 
splendid out of a white-flecked, pearly sky. In the lower 
lands, blackbird and thrush, starling and wren and linnet, broke 
into one mighty chorus ; and on the moors the grouse called 
less complainingly one to the other, the larks were boisterous, 
the eagles showed braver plumage to the sun, the very moor- 
tits added a twittering sort of gaiety to the day. A lusty, up- 
standing, joyous day, which brought old folk to their doors, to 
ask each other if there were not some churlish sport of March 
hid under all this bravery — which set the youngsters thinking 
of their sweethearts, and brought the sheep to lambing in many 
an upland pasture scarce free’d of winter snow. 

But the Lean Man had no eye for the beauty of the day, as 
he rode through Marshcotes street with Robert, his eldest- 
born, on the bridle-hand of him. For old Nicholas was think- 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


114 

ing how Shameless Wayne, the lad whom he had laughed at 
and despised, had lately driven the RatclilFes to hopeless flight. 
Both horsemen were fully armed, with swords on thigh and 
pistols in their holsters ; and, as they rode, they kept a sharp 
regard to right and left, lest any of the Waynes should be 
hidden in ambush. Time and time the Lean Man clapped a 
hand to his left ear, as if by habit, and his face was no good 
sight to see as he felt the rounded lump which marked where 
Wayne’s sword-cut — a fortnight old by now — was healing 
tardily. 

Could we but meet the lad alone in Marshcotes street 
here,” he muttered to his eldest-born. 

“ Ay, but fortune is no friend to us just now,” growled 
Robert j and there are those who say he’d match the two of 
us.” 

There are those who say that hawks breed cuckoos. Art 
thou weakening, Robert, too, because he has won the first poor 
skirmish ? ” 

Not I. If I find him in the road. I’ll have at him — but 
meanwhile I am free to think my own thoughts.” 

Well, and what are thy thoughts, sirrah ? ” 

‘‘That there’s witchery in his sword-arm. I saw him fight 
in the graveyard, and he was something ’twixt man and devil ; 
ay, he fought as if he had the cursed Dog of Marsh to back 
him.” 

The Lean Man gave a laugh — a laugh with little surety in 
it. “ Thou’rt a maid, Robert, to fall soft at such a baby-tale 
as that,” he sneered. 

“ Yet you have heard of the Dog, sir, and now and then 
you own to a half belief in him,” said Robert, meeting the 
other’s glance fairly. “ We have had proof of it aforetime, 
and — see the woman yonder,” he broke ofF, “ moving at us 
from the corner of the lane. What ails her ? ” 

They had passed the Bull tavern and were nearing the spot 
where the lane that led to Witherlee’s cottage ran into the 
Ling Crag highway. The Lean Man turning his head im- 
patiently as Robert spoke and following the direction of his 
finger, saw that the Sexton’s wife was standing at the roadside. 
Nanny was looking through and through him, and the smile on 
her dry old lips was scarcely one of welcome. At another 
time Nicholas would have paid no heed to her j but to-day a 


A MOORSIDE COURTSHIP 


115 

small thing had power to touch his spleen, and he pulled up 
sharp in the middle of the roadway. 

Pm called Nicholas Ratcliffe, woman, as perchance thou 
hast forgotten,” he said, leaning toward her and half lifting his 
hairy fist ; and when I see folk mocking me, I am prone to 
ask them why.” 

“ When I mock ye, Maister, ye’re free to strike me, an’ not 
afore,” answered Nanny. Her tone was quiet almost to con- 
temptuousness; and the smile that had lately rested on her 
lips was hiding now behind her shrewd black eyes. 

Nicholas looked at her, a touch of approval in his glance ; 
accustomed as he was to browbeat all who met him, this 
dried-up little body’s unconcern in face of threats half tickled 
and half angered him. 

‘‘ Hark to her, Robert ! ” he cried. Free to strike her, am 
I ? Gad, yes, and with no permission asked, I warrant ! ” 

‘^An’ as for mocking ye,” went on Nanny, disregarding his 
interruption, what need hev I to step ’twixt ye an’ Bar- 
guest ? ” 

The Lean Man was accounted hardier than most ; yet he 
started at Nanny’s mention of the Dog, following so abruptly 
on Robert’s talk of a moment ago. Barguest. What has 
he to do with me? ” he cried. 

“ What hed he to do wi’ your folk i’ times past ? Enough 
an’ to spare, I should reckon. Do ye forget, Nicholas Rat- 
clifFe, how one o’ your breed crossed Barguest once on t’ 
threshold of Marsh House ? Do ye mind what chanced to 
him at after ? ” 

Nanny’s quiet assurance had in it a quality that daunted the 
Lean Man. Had she grown fiery in denunciation of his sins 
toward the Waynes — as in her hotter moments she was wont 
to do — had she drawn wild pictures of the doom awaiting 
those who crossed the Dog, Nicholas would have knocked her 
to the roadway and passed on. But her faith was unwaver- 
ing; she had no doubt at all that the Lean Man had com- 
passed his own end, and voice and gesture both were such as 
to convince a man against his will. 

He stared at her, a growing terror in his face. ‘‘ ’Tis an 
old tale, woman, and one we scarce credit nowadays,” he 
stammered. — Robert, tell her she’s a fool — a rank, stark- 
witted fool — and I a bigger fool to hearken to her.” 


ii6 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


But Robert was in no case to bolster up his father’s dreads. 
He turned to Nanny sharply. “ Where does all this carry 
us ? ” he said. ‘‘ Dost thou mean that one of us has lately 
crossed the Dog ? ” 

Ay, marry. What else should I mean ? ” said the little 
old woman. 

’Tis a child’s tale — a child’s tale, I say,” broke in Nicho- 
las. 

‘‘Well, ye shall try the truth of it by an’ by — for ye 
crossed th’ Dog, Nicholas RatclifFe, when ye came down to 
nail your token to th’ Marsh doorway. I war watching by th’ 
dead man, an’ I heard Barguest come whimper-whimper down 
th’ lane ; an’ then he scratted like a wild thing at th’ panels ; 
an’ after that he ligged him down on the door-stun.” 

Nanny paused a moment, watching how the Lean Man 
took it. 

“ Ay, and then ” said Nicholas. He would fain have 
sounded merry, but his voice came dry and harsh. 

“ Then a man came riding up o’ horseback, an’ leaped to 
ground, an’ reached ower th’ Brown Dog to nail a man’s hand 
to th’ door. An’ ye war th’ horseman, Nicholas RatclifFe.” 

Once only the Lean Man glanced at her ; then set spurs to 
his great bay horse and clattered up the street, his son follow- 
ing close behind. At the end of half-a-mile they slackened 
pace, as if by joint consent ; but neither sought the other’s 
eyes. 

“ What ails thee, fool ? ” said Nicholas to his eldest-born. 

“Naught, sir — ’twas not I who fled from a crook-backed 
beldame,” sneered the other. 

The Lean Man turned on him, glad of an excuse for blus- 
ter. “ Thou dar’st to say I fled ? ” he cried. “ Thou, who 
wast sucking at the breast while I grew old in fight ? — There, 
lad ! ’Twas a madness in the blood that fell on us just now. 
What’s Barguest that he should spoil a bonnie plan ? Are we 
not sending Wayne to his last home to-night ? ” 

“We have planned as much,” said Robert slowly, 
“ but ” 

“Ay, but — and ‘but’ again in thy teeth. We have him, I 
tell thee — Red RatclifFe should be somewhere hereabouts by 
now, learning what I have sent him out to learn.” 

“We can learn all that, and yet not use the knowledge 


A MOORSIDE COURTSHIP 


117 

right/’ said Robert sullenly. Even yet he could see Nanny’s 
face, could hear her voice, and he was angered by the fear 
they bred in him. 

That’s as may be,” said Nicholas grimly — but if he 
brings the news I think he will the devil keep young Wayne 
of Marsh, for he’ll need some such sort of aid. — Who is yond 
lubberly farm-hind, climbing up the wall this side the road ? 
His slouch is woundily familiar.” Like his son, the Lean 
Man had felt the sting of Nanny’s words, though he was 
minded to make light of it ; and no better proof of his humour 
was needed than the quick ill-tempered eye he had for trifles. 

‘‘It looks like Hiram Hey — one of Wayne’s folk, and a 
pesty fellow with his tongue. We’ve found him more than 
once cutting peats from the Wild water land, and more than 
once we’ve fallen foul of him.” 

“ Have ye ? ” said Nicholas quietly. “ Well, he did us a 
service there, may be; and the more peats they coane at 
Marsh, the better ’twill be for us to-night. — Come, lad ; ’tis 
gallop now, and a truce to that old wife’s foolery.” 

Hiram Hey, meanwhile, was going his leisurely way, glanc- 
ing curiously at the Lean Man as he went by, but not guessing 
that he was furnishing him with food for talk. He slouched 
along the pasture-fields stopping at every other step to watch 
the sport of heifers, to note a broken piece of walling, or to 
berate some luckless farm-lad whom he found at play. 

“ I wodn’t call it a fair day, for we’ve not done wi’ ’t yet,” 
he murmured. “ Nay, I wodn’t call it a fair day, an’ that’s 
Gospel, till I see how it behaves itseln. We mud varry weel 
hev snow afore it wears to neet, or else thunner — or both, 
likely.” 

He leaned over a three-barred gate and eyed the long fur- 
rows climbing to the hill-crest — sleek furrows, with dust lying 
grey on the sun-side of the upturned sods. And while he 
lazied there, a milking-song came clear and crisp from over 
the wall that hid the High meadow from him. 

“ That’s Martha,” he cried, brightening on the sudden. 
“She sings like ony bird, does th’ lass. What should she be 
doing, I wonder, so far fro’ Marsh on a working-day ? ” 

His step had an unwonted briskness in it, his carriage was 
almost jaunty, as he moved along the wall-side to the stile at 
the corner. A milk-pail was showing now above the top step 


ii8 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


of the stile, with a cherry-ripe face and trim, short skirted 
figure under it. Martha halted on seeing Hiram Hey, and 
set two round, brown arms to the pail, and lifted it down to 
the wall ; then leaned with one hand on it while she dropped 
a saucy curtsey. 

It’s warm,” ventured Hiram, picking up a stone from the 
grass and throwing it aside. 

‘‘Warm? I should reckon it is. Tha’d say so if tha’d 
carried this pail a-top o’ thy head for a mile an’ better. — But, 
Lord, we munnot complain, for ’tis a day i’ five-score, this, 
an’ warm as midsummer.” 

“ Thee bide a bittock, as I telled young Maister this morn. 
‘ Spring’s come again, Hiram,’ says he to me. ‘ Mebbe,’ says 
I, ‘ but when a man’s lived to my years he learns to believe 
owt o’ th’ weather — save gooid sense.’ That’s what I said, 
for sure.” 

“ Tha’rt not so thrang as or’nary, seemingly ? ” said Martha, 
after a pause. 

Hiram glanced at her, as if suspecting mockery. “ Nay, 
I’m alius thrang,” he answered, shaking his head in mournful 
fashion. “ I’ve heard folk say I do nowt just because they’ve 
seen me hands-i’-pocket time an’ time ; but when ye’re mais- 
ter-hand at a farm, there’s head-work to be done as weel as 
body-work.” 

“To be sure — an’ ’tis fearful hard, is head-work.” 

“Ay, I oft say to shepherd Jose that th’ humbler your 
station i’ this life, th’ fewer frets ye hev.” 

“ I feel fair pitiful for thee, Hiram,” said Martha, glancing 
softly at him across the pail, “ when I see what worries tha 
hes to put up wi’.” 

Hiram came a step nearer. “Tha mud weel pity me, lass. 
’Tis grand to be sich chaps as Jose — all body, i’ a way o’ 
speaking, an’ no head-piece worth naming to come ’twixt vic- 
tuals an’ their appetites. — Martha, lass. I’ve oft wondered 
how tha came to be born a wench.” 

“ Would’st hev hed me born a lad ? ” 

“Nay, begow ! but tha’s getten so mich sense; that’s 
what I mean. It fair caps me — as if I’d fund apples growing 
on a thistle-top.” 

Martha had a keen answer on her tongue-tip, but she held 
it back ; for the lads were beginning to pass her by, and it 


A MOORSIDE COURTSHIP 


119 

was time she had a goodman. It’s a lot for thee to say, 
Hiram, is that,” she murmured, dropping her eyes. ‘‘I iver 
thowt there war maid i’ Marshcotes could come nigh to what 
tha looks for i’ a wench.” 

‘‘ Nor I nawther,” said Hiram gravely. I’ve said to my- 
seln time an’ agen that if I war to keep good company till th’ 
end o’ my days. I’d hev to live wi’ myseln.” 

‘‘ It wod take a good un to be mate to thee.” 

Hiram half lifted his foot to the bottom step of the stile, 
then withdrew it. Go slow, lad,” he murmured. If 
tha taks it at this flairsome speed, where wilt be by to- 
morn ? ” 

I wod tak a varry good un,” repeated Martha. 

But Hiram had taken fright on the sudden. I seed th’ 
Lean Man go through Marshcotes a while back,” he said, 
with would-be carelessness. 

“ Oh, ay Th’ RatclilFes seem to be up an’ about this 
morn, for I passed Red RatclilFe i’ th’ meadow not five min- 
ites sin’. Sakes, but he’s an ill-favoured un, is Red Ratcliffe ! 
He war for gi’eing me a kiss an’ a hug just now, but I let 
him feel th’ wrong side o’ my hand i’stead. — An’ what did 
th’ Lean Man look like, Hiram, after his fighting o’ t’ other 
day ? ” 

Nay, I niver stopped to axe ; but I noticed he looked 
queerish where he took yond sword-cut a two-week come 
yesterday. I’m none for praising th’ young Maister, not I, 
seeing he’s shameless by name an’ shameless by natur — but I 
take it kindly of him that he sliced th’ Lean Man’s ear off 
clean as a tummit-top. There’s none i’ th’ moorside but 
wishes his head had followed.” 

‘‘Now whisht, Hiram ! ” cried Martha. “ It’s a two-week 
come yesterday sin’ they fought i’ th’ kirkyard, but I’m sick 
yet wheniver I call to mind how they came home to Marsh that 
morn. Th’ burial-board war all spread, an’ I war agate wi’ 
drawing a jug of October when Nanny Witherlee comes run- 
ning into th’ pantry, as white as a hailstone, an’ ‘ Martha,’ 
say she, ‘ there’ll be a sorry mess on th’ hall-floor — an’ us to 
have spent so mich beeswax on’t,’ says she. ‘Why, what’s 
agate ? ’ I says. ‘ Th’ Waynes is back for th’ burying-feast,’ 
says Nanny, ‘ an’ they’ve brought some gaping wounds, my 
sakes, to sit at meat wi’ ’em.’ ” 


120 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


I warrant they did,” assented Hiram, “ for I see’d ’em 
myseln.” 

‘‘Well, I runs a-tip-toe then to th’ hall door, an* I screamed 
out to see th’ Waynes standing there. A score or so there 
mud be, all drinking as if they’d sweated like brocks at grass- 
cutting ; an’ there war a queer silence among ’em ; an’ some 
war binding arms an’ legs, an’ th’ floor, I tell thee, war more 
slippy under a body’s feet nor ony beeswax warranted.” 

“Th’ Maister went through it without a scratch, for all 
that, though they say he fought twice for ivery one o’ t’ 
others. Ay, his father war like that when th’ owd quarrel 
war agate — alius i’ th’ front, yet niver taking so mich as a 
skin-prick till th’ time came for him to dee.” 

“How long ago war that, Hiram? I’ve heard tell o’ th’ 
owd feud, but it mun hev been a long while back.” 

“Longer nor ye can call to mind, lass. ’Twas a sight o’ 
years back, afore tha wert born or thought of.” 

Another soft glance from Martha. “ I shouldn’t hev 
thought tha^d hev remembered it so weel, Hiram,” she mur- 
mured. “ Tha talks as if tha wert owd enough to be a girt- 
grandfather to sich a little un as me.” 

Hiram saw his error. “Nay, I’m youngish still, Martha,” 
he put in hastily, with a tell-tale pulling of his hat over the 
widening patch of forehead that showed beneath the brim. 
“ ’Tis hard thinking that thins a body’s thatch, an’ when I 
call to mind what a power o’ sense I’ve learned sin’ being a 
lad, I wonder I’m not as bald as a moor-tit’s egg. Well, tha 
mud find younger men nor me, but ” 

“ I set no store by youngness, Hiram. I alius did say a 
wise head war th’ best thing a man could hev.” 

“ Begow, but tha’rt a shrewd un, Martha, as weel as a bon- 
nie un ! ” cried Hiram, and checked himself. “ Yond’s a 
tidy slice o’ land,” he said, nodding at the dusty furrows in 
front of them. 

But Martha knew her own mind. “ I’d liefer talk about 
thee, Hiram, that I wod,” she said. “ Land’s theer ony day 
we want to look at it ! ” 

“ Well, now, there’s summat i’ that,” he answered, with a 
shade of uneasiness in his voice. “ Where hast been, like, for 
th’ milk, lass ? ’Tisn’t every day I find thee stirring so far 
fro’ Marsh.” 


A MOORSIDE COURTSHIP 


I2I 


‘‘ Pve been to th’ High Farm, for sure. What wi’ milk 
for th’ new-weaned calves, an’ for churning, an’ what not, 
we shouldn’t hev hed a sup i’ th’ house down at Marsh if I 
hadn’t come a-borrowing.” 

‘‘ There’s waste somewhere. I’m thinking,” said Hiram 
sadly. Th’ roan cow war niver fuller i’ milk nor now, an’ 
yond little dappled beast I bought off Tom o’ Dick’s o’ Win- 
dytop is yielding grandly. Nay, nay, there’s waste at Marsh ! 
I said how ’twould be when young Maister took hod o’ th’ 
reins.” 

‘‘ Waste, is there ? I’d like thee to hev a week or two at 
managing, Hiram ; tha’d see how far a score quarts o’ milk 
’ull go, wi’ four growing lads an’ th’ Maister, an’ all ye lub- 
bering farm-folk to feed. But theer ! Men niver can thoyle 
to see owt go i’ housekeeping ; an’ I’ll be bidding thee good- 
day, Hiram, as tha’s getten no likelier sort o’ talk nor 
that.” 

She made pretence to lift her pail from the top of the stile, 
and Hiram so far forgot his caution as to put a hand on her 
dimpled arm. 

Sakes, lass, I wodn’t hev thee go ! ” he cried. 

“Then don’t thee talk about waste and sich-like foolish- 
ness; I thowt tha’d more sense, Hiram, that I did. Nawther 
is young Maister what tha thinks him, let me tell thee ; he’s 
stiffening like a good un an’ there’s them as says he’s getten 
th’ whip-hand o’ Hiram Hey already.” 

“ Stiffening, is he ? ” cried Hiram, whom the jibe stung 
more keenly because he could not but admit the truth of it. 
“ Well, there’s room an’ to spare, for he hes as slack a back 
as iver I clapped een on. But if tha thinks he can best Hi- 
ram Hey, Sunday or week-day ” 

He stopped and shaded his eyes with both hands as he 
looked more keenly up the fields. Two figures had topped 
the crest — one a girl’s, the other a man’s, loose-built and of a 
swinging carriage. 

“Nay, I niver said I thowt as mich,” said Martha de- 
murely, not heeding the direction of Hiram’s glance. “’Twas 
shepherd Jose said it yestereen when he stepped down to th’ 
house wi’ th’ week’s lamb.” 

“ What, Jose ! ” cried the other, with an angry cackle. 
“ He niver had a mind aboon sheep, hedn’t Jose, an’ sheep 


122 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


is poor wastrels when all’s said. So tha lets an owd chap 
like yond come whispering i’ thy ear, dost ’a, Martha ? ” 

An’ who’s to say nay to me, I should like to know ? ” 
Pier voice was combative, but she leaned a little toward Hi- 
ram as she spoke, and he all but took the last dire step of all. 

Very foolish showed Hiram, as he stood looking at the 
maid, with caution in one eye and in the other a frank admi- 
ration of the comeliness which showed so wholesome and so 
fresh amid the greenery of field and hedgerow. And all the 
while he was murmuring, Go slow, lad, go slow, I tell 
thee,” and his lips were moving shiftlessly to the refrain. 

‘^Thou’rt tongue-tied, Hiram. Who’s to say nay to me, 
I axed thee ? ” laughed Martha. 

Hiram rocked the milk pail gently with one hand, and 
stared up the new-ploughed furrows of the field ahead of him. 

Thy own good sense, lass, should say thee nay,” he an- 
swered guardedly. Them as tends sheep, an’ nowt but 
sheep, gets witless as an owd bell-wether ; an’ if I war a lass 
I’d as lief wed a turnip on a besom-stick as shepherd Jose.” 

“ If tha wert a lass, Hiram, tha’d die i’ spinsterhood. I’m 
thinking.” 

Martha’s attack was spirited, but she sighed a little as she 
noted Hiram’s far-away regard; his thoughts were with the 
land, she fancied, when she fain would have brought them 
nearer home. Yet, as it chanced Hiram Hey was not think- 
ing of farm-matters at the moment ; Martha had her back to 
the ploughed field, and she could not see that the two figures 
which had lately topped the rise were coming down the field- 
side toward the stile. And it was plain now to Hiram that 
one was Janet Ratcliffe, the other Wayne of Marsh. 

“ It’s queer, is th’ way o’ things,” said Martha presently, 
loth to go her ways, yet too impatient and too womanly to 
stand there with no word spoken. 

Oh, ay ? Well, things war niver owt but queer,” an- 
swered Hiram, startled out of his abstraction. 

‘‘ I war thinking o’ th’ bloody fight i’ th’ kirkyard. No 
more nor a two- week back it war, Hiram, an’ here we all 
are, cooking an’ weshing an’ churning i’ th’ owd way, when 
we’d looked for fearsome doings all up an’ down th’ moor- 
side.” 

A wench would look for ’em ; but I could hev telled 


A MOORSIDE COURTSHIP 


123 


thee different if tha’d axed me/’ said Hiram complacently. 

Look at yond puffs o’ dust that come ivery two-three 
minutes over th’ furrows — dost think even Shameless Wayne 
could let a seed-time sich as this go by, while he war agate 
wi’ fighting ? Nay, nor th’ Ratcliffes nawther. We mun 
all live by th’ land, gentle an’ simple, an’ afore awther Wayne 
or Ratcliffes can afford to marlake, they’ll hev to addle belly- 
timber.” 

“ There’ll nowt o’ more come on ’t then ? Th’ Lean Man 
has been fearful quiet of late, an’ there’s them as thinks th’ 
fight i’ th’ graveyard has daunted him for good an’ all.” 

Daunted him, has it ? ” rejoined Hiram grimly. Thee 
bide till th’ oats is sown, an’ th’ hay won in, an’ then tha’ll 
see summat. Th’ Lean Man is quiet like, tha says ? Well, 
I’ve known him quiet afore, an’ I’ve known him busy — an’ 
of th’ two I’d liefer see him thrang.” 

Tha’r a good un to flair folk, Hiram ! Why would’st 
liefer see him thrang ? ” 

Why ? Because when a Ratcliffe says nowt to nobody, 
but wends abroad wi’ a smug face an’ watchful een, same 
as I’ve seen ’em do lately, ye may be varry sure he’s fash- 
ioning slier devil’s tricks nor iver. — Red Ratcliffe met thee 
just now, did he, Martha?” 

I telled thee as mich — he warn’t so slow as some folk, 
Hiram, for he’d no sooner clapped een on me nor he had an 
arm about my waist.” 

Again Hiram wavered, and again whispered caution to 
himself. ‘‘ He showed some mak o’ sense there, Martha — 
but that’s not what I war axing thee. What war he doing, 
like, when tha first corned up wi’ him ? ” 

Nowt, nobbut mooning up an’ down, as if i’ search o’ 
somebody.” 

‘‘Well, he war on Wayne land to start wi’, an’ that wears 
a queerish look.” 

“ Sakes, young Maister is nowhere near. I’m hoping ! ” 
cried Martha. “ Red Ratcliffe carried his pistols, an’ a shot 
from behind a wall wod suit him better nor a stand-up fight.” 

She still had her back to the ploughed field, and Hiram 
smiled in sour fashion to think how very near the master was, 
and what company he was keeping at the moment. 

“ Thou’rt fearful jealous for th’ young Maister,” he said. 


124 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


Pm thinking there’s truth i’ what they say i’ Marshcotes — 
that Shameless Wayne alius gets th’ soft side of a maid.” 

An’ should do, seeing he’s what he is ! ” 

“ Well, I wodn’t be a bit surprised if he war i’ th’ fields 
this morn. He’s farmed for a week, hes th’ Maister, an’ he 
knows so mich about it now that he mun be here, theer an’ 
iverywhere, watching that us younger hands do matters right.” 

‘‘ Tha can mock as tha likes, Hiram Hey, but he’ll teach 
thee summat afore he’s done wi’ thee. Poor lad, though. I’m 
fair pitiful for him ! He niver rests save when he’s abed, an’ 
not oft then, for I can hear him stirring mony a neet at after 
he’d earned his sleep.” 

Thinking of his sins, I reckon,” growled Hiram. 

Well, there’s some I know that hasn’t mouse-pluck 
enough for sinning. Besides, that’s owered wi’. He’s stiff- 
ening right enough — yet mony’s the time I wish him back to 
th’ owd careless days. He niver hes a gay word for us 
wenches now, an’ to see him wi’ his brothers ye mud weel 
think he war a score year older nor he’s ony call to be.” 

Hiram had waited for this moment, chuckling at the over- 
throw in store for Martha’s championship of the master. 
‘‘ Stiffening, is he ? ” he said, pointing up the field and draw- 
ing his lips into a thin curve. He may be — but he’s fram- 
ing badly for a start.” 

Martha, turning sharp about, saw the two figures come 
slowly down the wall-side toward the stile. Wayne’s head 
was bent low to Mistress Janet’s, as if he were pleading some 
urgent cause, and neither seemed to guess that they were 
watched. 

‘‘ Well ? ” said Martha defiantly. “ There’s nowt wrong i’ 
that, is there ? I’ve known he war soft on Mistress Ratcliffe 
iver sin’ last spring.” 

Hiram stared at her, aghast that she could look so lightly 
on a grievous matter; and when he spoke there was honest 
anger in his voice, distinct from his usual carping tone. 

Nowt wrong ? ” he said slowly. What, when a Wayne 
goes courting a Ratcliffe ? I can’t picture owt wronger, ony 
way, seeing what has come between ’em lately an’ aforetime.” 

Hoity-toity ! That’s been Mistress Nell’s way o’ look- 
ing at it — but ’tisn’t mine. Look at ’em, Hiram, an’ say if 
they don’t mak a bonniq couple.” 


A MOORSIDE COURTSHIP 


125 


“ What’s bonniness to do wi’ ’t ? They’re a bad stock, 
root an’ branch, is th’ RatclifFes, an’ it ’ull be a sore day for 
Marsh when th’ Maister brings sich as yond to th’ owd house. 
Besides, he has sworn to kill her folk.” 

Well, ye cannot cut young hearts i’ two wi’ kinship, an’ 
that’s what I’m telling thee. Mistress RatclifFe hes nawther 
father nor brother living, an’ them she dwells wi’ up at Wild- 
water are nowt so near to her but what a good lad’s love is 
nearer.” 

Hod thy whisht, lass ! ” cried Hiram on the sudden. 

Th’ Maister is looking this way at last. Begow, but he 
mun hev had summat deep to say to her, or he’d have seen us 
afore this.” 

Shameless Wayne reddened on seeing the occupants of the 
stile, and whispered to Janet, and the two of them turned 
quickly about, taking a cross-line back toward the moor. 

‘‘ Flaired to be spoken to by honest folk,” said Hiram. 

“ Flaired o’ thy sour face, more like,” snapped Martha. 

Hiram was about to make one of his slow, exasperating re- 
sponses when he clutched Martha by the arm and again 
pointed over the stile — not up the ploughed field this time, 
but across the pasture-land abutting on it. 

‘‘We shall know by an’ by what Red RatclifFe has in 
mind,” he muttered ; “ dost see him yonder, Martha, crossing 
th’ pasture ? Ay, an’ now he’s following ’em up th’ wall- 
side.” 

“ So he is. There’s no mistaking that red thatch o’ hisn — 
’twill set th’ sun afire one bonnie day. I’m thinking. Does 
he mean to do th’ Maister a hurt, think ye, Hiram ? ” 

Hiram stretched himself with the air of a man who has 
work to do. “ He’s too far ofF yet for a pistol-shot ; but he’s 
quickening pace a bit, an’ Lord knows what he’s bent on. I 
reckon I’ll just clamber ower th’ wall here, Martha, an’ wend 
down t’ other side, and get a word wi’ him as if ’twar chance 
like.” 

“Tak care o’ thyseln, Hiram. There are some of us wod 
ill like to see harm come to thee.” 

But Hiram was deaf to blandishments. He had gone far 
enough for one morning, and, all else apart, he was no whit 
sorry to slip out of temptation’s way. 

“ There’s no telling when a RatclifFe is about,” he said, 


126 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


putting one leg over the low wall, an’ th’ Maister is so 
throttle-deep i’ foolishness just now that he’s ripe-ready to fall 
into ony snare that’s laid for him. Begow, Martha, but I 
don’t know what th’ world wod come to if there war no 
Hiram Hey to straighten it now and again ! ” 

Martha sighed for the interrupted wooing as she lifted her 
pail from the stile. Hiram Hey moved surely, it might be, 
but life seemed short for such masterly painstaking slow- 
ness. 

It’s war nor driving pigs to market, is getting Hiram to 
speak plain,” she said to herself, setting ofF for home. 
— Tha’ll be back to thy dinner, Hiram ? ” she added over her 
shoulder. 

For sure I will. There’s more nor dinner to tempt me 
down to Marsh,” he cried, his rashness gaining on him now 
that he stood on the far side of the wall. 

On no point save wedlock, however, did Hiram fail to 
know his purpose. He might have much to say about the 
young Master, but he had no mind to see harm come to him ; 
and so he moved with a steady swing across the field, then 
turned sharp and crossed to the wall behind which Red Rat- 
clilFe was creeping at a point some ten-score yards from the 
stile. He stopped then and leaned a pair of careless arms 
over the wall and looked everywhere but at the object of his 
manoeuvres, whose progress he had guessed to a nicety. 

Why, is’t ye, Maister RatclifFe ? ” he cried, letting his 
eyes fall at last on the tall, lean figure that stood not two yards 
away on the far side of the wall. 

RatclifFe glanced at him, but could not guess whether 
Hiram’s stolid face hid any deeper thought than an idle wish 
to chatter. ’Tis I, plain enough,” he growled. 

Nay, doan’t fly at me — on a grand day like this, an’ all. 
I thowt mebbe ye’d stepped on to th’ Marsh land just to pick 
up a two-three wrinkles about farming. ’Tis not oft we’re 
favoured wi’ a sight o’ ye down here.” 

Dost think I need come here to learn any point of till- 
age ? ” laughed the other angrily. 

“ Well, I thowt it showed good sense i’ ye. We’re a tidy 
lot at Marsh, so folk say, an’ I’m none blaming ye at Wild- 
water, ye understand for knawing a bit less about farming nor 
us. Your land’s high, for one thing, an’ lean as a scraped 


A MOORSIDE COURTSHIP 


127 

flint — I warrant it does your een good to see sich lovesome 
furrows as them, ye’re walking ower.” 

If speech can earn thee a cracked crown, thou’lt not 
long go whole of head,” snapped RatclifFe, beginning to move 
forward. 

Theer, theer ! Th’ gentry’s alius so hot when a plain 
man strives to talk pleasant like to ’em. But it’s live an’ 
let live, I alius did say, an’ sich fair spring weather as this 
hes a trick o’ setting my tongue wagging.” A sly glance at 
the other’s back told him that Red RatclifFe must be fetched 
up sharp if he were to be prevented from following Wayne 
of Marsh and Janet. It sets other folk’s tongues agate, 
too, seemingly,” he added, glancing toward the hill-crest over 
which his Master and the girl were disappearing ; they 
mak a fine couple, doan’t they, Maister, him an’ Mistress 
RatclifFe ? ” 

RatclifFe faced about. ‘‘ Palsy take thee ! ” he cried. Art 
thou a fool, only, Hiram Hey, or dost think to jest with thy 
betters ? ” 

Nay, I’m nobbut a fool, I reckon,” said Hiram, shaking 
his head mournfully. “ I can’t say owt to please ye, ’twould 
seem, choose what, so I’d better hod my whisht. When I see 
a bonnie lass, an’ th’ finest lad i’ th’ moorside beside her — 
why, I thowt it could do no harm just to speak on ’t, like.” 

The finest lad in the moorside ? ” sneered RatclifFe. 
‘‘ Since when did Wayne the Shameless earn his new title ? ” 

‘‘ What, ye’ve not heard his praises then ? I may hev my 
own opinion — ivery man hes a right to that — but Marshcotes 
an’ Ling Crag can find nowt too good to say about him nowa- 
days. Oh, ay, they all grant ’at th’ Wayne land is th’ best 
on th’ moor, an’ ots Maister th’ handiest chap wi’ sword or 
farming-tools. ’Tis sad, for sure, that there’s such bad blood 
’twixt ye an’ th’ Waynes ; but this courtship ’ull mebbe 
cure it. — Nay, now, doan’t be so hasty ! I speak according 
to my lights; they may be poor uns, as Kind Tom o’ 
Trawdon says, but they’re all I’ve getten to go by.” 

Not a muscle of Hiram’s face told how he was enjoying 
this skirmish with his enemy ; only an added watchfulness 
of eye told that he half expected the other to strike him. 
His Master was out of sight now, and there was so much 
gained, whatever chanced to himself. But RatclifFe lost his 


128 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


anger on the sudden, and turned to Hiram with something 
near to good-nature in his tone. 

‘‘ Well, thou’rt dry, Hiram, with a shrewd wit of thy own, 
but I warn thee for thy own sake not to couple any Wayne 
with Mistress RatclifFe in thy gossip. — Ay, and that calls an- 
other thing to mind ; they say ye Wayne folk cut peats on 
the Wildwater land last summer, and ever since Fve been 
seeking a chance to tell thee we’ll have no more of that.” 

Hiram, wondering what lay under this change of front, an- 
swered slowly. We’re no thiefs, Maister ; an’ if our peat 
beds lie foot-to-heel wi’ yourn, is that to say we’d ower-step 
th’ boundary ? Besides, we’ve no call to ; our side o’ th’ bed 
yields better peats ” 

Well, I judge by what I’m told, and our farm-folk told us 
further that ye had carted some of their own peats as they lay 
up-ended for the drying.” 

Begow, that’s a likely tale ! ” cried Hiram, roused at last. 

When we worked noon an’ neet for a week, cutting an’ 
drying an’ carting, to be telled we ” 

There ! Thou’rt honest, Hiram, and I’ll take thy word 
for it,” laughed Ratcliffe. “ So the peats have lasted, have 
they ? Ours are all but done after this cursed winter.” 

Now, what’s he at ? ” muttered Hiram. When th’ 
Ratcliffe breed hatches a civil word, they alius want stiff pay- 
ment for ’t. — Our peats are lasting fine, an’ thankee,” he 
said. ’Tis all a matter o’ forethought, an’ some fowk hesn’t 
mich o’ that. Oh, ay, we’ve getten a shed-full next to th’ 
mistals, let alone th’ stack at th’ far-side o’ th’ yard ; an’ it’s 
April now, so I reckon we shall see th’ winter through. Ye 
niver catch us tripping down at Marsh.” 

‘‘ Not oft,” said Ratcliffe, with a crafty smile. — Faith, 
though, thy boasting would move better if it had less to carry, 
Hiram. We’re all at fault once in a while, and I warrant 
that, if the peats will last, your bedding — bracken and the like, 
— has fallen short.” 

“ Then ye’ll warrant to little purpose,” put in Hiram, with 
triumph, they lig side by side, th’ peats an’ th’ bedding — an’ 
if ye’ll step down an’ tak a look at Marsh ye’ll find a fairish 
heap o’ both sorts.” 

He laughed at the humour of the invitation, and Red Rat- 
cliffe followed suit as he turned on his heel. 


A MOORSIDE COURTSHIP 


129 


Another day, Hiram, and meanwhile Til take word back 
to Wild water, that we’ve all to learn yet from the wise men 
who dwell at Marsh.” 

Scoff as ye will, ye’re varry right there,” muttered Hi- 
ram, as he too, went his way. But I’d like to know what 
made ye frame to speak so civil all at once.” 

Red Ratcliffe was already moving across the field, with a 
light step and a face that was full of cunning glee ; nor did 
he slacken pace until, half toward Wildwater, he saw Shame- 
less Wayne parting from Janet at the corner of the cross- 
roads. His face darkened for a moment, then cleared as he 
watched Shameless Wayne pass down the road to Marsh. 

I’ve learned two things worth the knowing to-day,” he 
murmured, striding after his cousin, and both should cut 
solid ground from under Wayne’s feet. God, though, they 
did not part like lovers ! Has Janet’s needle-tongue proved 
over-sharp for Shameless Wayne ? Ay, it must be so — and 
now she’s full of sorrow for the quarrel, all in a maid’s way, 
and droops like any wayside flower.” 

Janet turned as his step sounded close behind her ; she 
glanced at the road which Wayne had taken, and then at Red 
Ratcliffe, but his manner was so open and free of its wonted 
subtlety that she told herself, with a quick breath of relief, 
that her secret was safe enough as yet. 

Would’st have company on the road, cousin ? ” he said 
lightly. 

“ I had better company before thou cam’st,” she answered 
lifting her dainty brows. 

He stared at her, thinking that she meant, at the bidding 
of one of her wilder moods, to make frank avowal of her 
meeting with Shameless Wayne. Better company? Whose 
was’t ? ” he snapped. 

‘‘ Why, sir, my own.” There was trouble deep-seated in 
her eyes, but her tone was light ; for she had learned by hard 
experience to know that only mockery could keep Red Rat- 
cliffe’s surly heat of passion in any sort of check. 

‘‘Art something less than civil, Janet, to one who loves 
thee.” 

“Well, then, why fret thyself with such a thankless Mis- 
tress ? I’m weary of hearing thee play the lover, and I tell 
thee so again — for the third time, I think, since yesterday.” 


130 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


Thou’lt be wearier still before Pve done with wooing 
thee. Hark, Janet; ’tis no light fancy, this ” 

Light or heavy, sir, ’tis all one to me. My thoughts lie 
off from wedlock.” 

He stopped and gripped her hands with sudden fury. By 
God, if thy love turns to any but me,” he cried, Pll cut 
the heart out of the man who wins thee.” 

She pulled her hands away and stepped back a pace or 
two ; and amid all his spleen he could not but admire the fine 
aloofness of her carriage. Not like a maid at all was she ; 
heaving breast, and bright, watchful eye, and back-thrown 
head, seemed rather those of some wild thing of the moors, 
pursued and driven to bay among the wastes where hitherto 
she had lived out of sight and touch of men. 

“ So it comes to this. Red RatclifFe ? ” she said slowly. 
‘^The sorriest fool at Wildwater dares to use force when I 
refuse him love ? ” 

‘^’Twas the thought thou might’st love elsewhere that 
stung me,” he muttered, cowed by her fury. 

Again a passing doubt crossed her mind — a doubt lest he 
had reached the cross-roads in time to see her bid farewell to 
Shameless Wayne. “ How should I love elsewhere ? ” she 
faltered. 

Red RatclifFe paused, wondering if he should loose his shaft 
at once, but he thought better of it. Janet was safe under 
hand at Wildwater for the nonce, and if he bided his time 
until her mood has less gustiness in it, he might use his knowl- 
edge to better purpose. 

Nay, I trust thy pride far enough, and thy fear of the 
Lean Man, to know thou’lt not wed worse blood than ours,” 
he said softly ; but Pm not the only one at Wildwater that 
hungers for thee, and there are the Ryecollar RatclifFes be- 
sides.” 

And fifty more belike. What then, sir ? ” 

‘‘ This — that Pll have thee, girl, if every RatclifFe of them 
all says nay,” he muttered savagely. 

She glanced at him, then turned her back and moved to the 
far side of the road. “Art a man sometimes in thy words,” 
she said, over her shoulder. “ If only thou could’st show 
deeds to back them — why, I think Pd forgive thee the folly 
of thy love for its passion’s sake. There, cousin ! Pm 


A MOORSIDE COURTSHIP 


weary o the talk, and my steps will not keep pace with thine 
to Wildwater/’ 

‘‘Thou askest deeds ? Well, thou shalt have them before 
the week is out,” he said, and struck across the moor. At 
another time he would not have accepted such easiful dis- 
missal ; but he knew the game was his now, and there was 
nothing to be gained by matching his wit with hers through 
two long miles. 

“ What ailed me to walk so openly with Wayne of Marsh ? ” 
mused Janet, following at her leisure. “ I had as lief we were 
seen by grandfather himself as by yonder spiteful rogue — And 
all to what end ? Wayne is against me, too, though his face 
cannot hide ” — she stopped, and her trouble melted into a low 
laugh — “ cannot hide what I would see there.” 

Red RatclilFe did not go straight into the hall as he reached 
Wildwater. Some dark instinct, begotten of fight and plot 
and brute passion barely held in check, drew him to the pool 
that underlay the house. The look of the sullen water, the 
old stories that were buried in its nether slime, touched a 
kindred chord in him, and he gleaned a sombre joy from 
standing at the edge and counting again the dead which tradi- 
tion gave the pool. He was roused by a touch on his shoulder, 
and looking round he saw old Nicholas watching him with a 
grim air of approval. 

“ It has a speech of its own, eh, lad ? And wiser counsel 
under its speech than most I hear,” said Nicholas, pointing to 
the water. 

“Ay, it has hid a Wayne or two aforetime, and it seems to 
crave more such goodly food. Yet ’tis strange, sir, that Bar- 
guest is said to lie here o’ nights. ’Tis he, they say, that kills 
the fish and keeps the moor-fowl from nesting on the banks. 
What should the guardian of Marsh House do sleeping cheek 
by jowl with us ? ” 

The Lean Man quailed for a moment, as he had quailed 
when Nanny Witherlee told him how he had crossed Bar- 
guest on the Marsh threshold. But the disquiet passed. 
“Tush, lad ! ” he cried. “ Leave Waynes to their own old 
wives’ tales, and come to a story with more marrow in ’t. 
Didst learn what I sent thee out to learn ? ” 

Red RatclifFe lost his brief touch of superstition. “Ay — 
and that without going nearer than half a league to Marsh. 


132 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


As I was on my way there I chanced on Hiram Hey, and the 
wry old fool told me all I asked with never a guess at my 
meaning.” 

There’s enough, is there ? ” 

And to spare. Eve seen to the hemlock, too, and one of 
the lads is to go ” 

Hold thy peace ! ” cried Nicholas, chiding him roughly. 

Here’s Janet, and she must guess naught of this ; ’twould 
only fright her.” 

Red RatclifFe moved away as his cousin came up, for he had 
no wish to make further sport for her yet awhile. “ Fright 
her, poor lambling, would it ? ” he muttered. The Lean 
Man’s care for her is wondrous — but what if he knew that I 
had learned more to-day than ever he sent me out in search of? ” 

‘‘ Come here, Janet,” said Nicholas, as the girl halted, 
doubtful whether he wanted speech of her. ‘‘ There has been 
somewhat on my tongue this long while past, and every time 
I see thee come in from these fond walks of thine, I read two 
things more clearly.” 

And what are they, grandfather ? ” she said, slipping a 
coaxing hand into his. 

That the wind gives thee beauty enough to tempt any man 
— and that there’s danger in it so long as we’re at feud with 
the Waynes.” 

‘‘But that is an old tale, sir,” she pouted, “and — and no 
harm has come to me as yet.” 

“ The more cause to fear it then, to-morrow, or the next 
day after. See, lass, I would not deal hardly with thee, but 
I’ll not give way on this one point, plead as thou wilt. There 
are Ratcliffes in plenty who want thee in wedlock, and ’tis 
time thou hadst a strong arm about thee. Thou’lt wander 
less abroad, I warrant, soon as thou hast a goodman.” 

“ But, grandfather, I do not want to ” 

“ Be quiet, child ! And let an older head take better care 
of thee than thou wilt ever take of thyself. Besides, they are 
so hot for thee, one and another, that there’s danger of a feud 
among ourselves if the matter is not settled one way or the 
other. Red RatclifFe asked me for thee only yesternight.” 

“ If the world held him and me, sir, I would go to the far 
side of it and leave him the other half,” she cried, with childish 
vehemence. 


A MOORSIDE COURTSHIP 


133 

Well, well, there are others. I gave him free leave to win 
thee if he could, and he must do his own pleading now.” 

They stood by the water-side awhile in silence, the girl in 
sore fear of what this new mood of her grandfather’s might 
bring, and Nicholas returning to the foolish scrap of goblin- 
lore with which Red RatclifFe had just now disquieted him. 
Do as he would, the Lean Man could not hide from himself 
that a dread the more potent for its vagueness, had been creep- 
ing in on him ever since he learned what had lain on the 
Marsh doorway when he went to nail his token on the oak. 
Broad noon as it was now, the light lay heavy on the water, 
and Nicholas could not keep his eyes from it, nor his mind 
from the legend that named it the Brown Dog’s lair. 

‘‘Janet,” he said, looking up at her with a light in his keen 
eyes which she had never yet seen there, “ there’s a weak link, 
they say, in every man’s chain of life, and it has taken me 
three-score years to find out mine. This Barguest that they 
talk of ? Dost credit him, lass ? ” 

She glanced quickly at him, puzzled by the vague terror in 
his voice. “ I have lived with the voices of the moor,” she 
answered gravely, “ till I can doubt plain flesh and blood more 
easily than Barguest, and the Sorrowful Woman, and ” 

“ Pest ! ” he broke in impatiently. “ ’Tis fitting a maid 
should let her fancies stray. But a grown man, Janet ? 
There ! The pool breeds more than the one sort of vapour, 
and we’ll stay no longer by it. — Think well, lass, on what I 
said of wedlock, for thou’lt have to make early choice.” 

Hiram Hey, meanwhile was sitting beside the kitchen hearth 
at Marsh, watching Martha clear the board after dinner ; for 
he always dined at the house, though^ he slept and took his 
other meals at the Low Farm. The rest of the serving-folk 
had gone to this or that occupation, and Hiram was minded to 
take up his wooing again at the exact spot where he had left 
it an hour or two earlier. 

“ I’ve been thinking o’ things, Martha, sin’ I saw thee 
looking so bonnie-like this morn,” he said. 

“ What sort o’ things ? ” she asked, demurely sweeping the 
table free of crumbs. 

Hiram ruffled the frill of hair under his chin, and smiled 
with wintry foolishness. “ Well, what’s wrang for a young 
un like th’ Maister is right enough for a seasoned chap like me. 


134 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


Pm rather backard i’ coming forrard, tha sees, but it cam 
ower me t’ other day that I mud varry weel look round an’ 
about me ; an’ if I could find a wench ’at war all I looked 

for i’ a wench ” 

Ay, what then, Hiram ? ” 

He paused, and shuffled his feet among the heap of farm- 
yard mud which had already fallen from his boots. Why, 
there’s niver no telling — niver no telling at all,” he said, with 
an air of deep wisdom. 

‘‘Sakes, he’s a slow un to move, is Hiram,” muttered the 
girl, losing patience at last. 

Well, I mun be seeing after things, I reckon, or there’ll 
be summat getting out o’ gear,” said Hiram, rising and stretch- 
ing himself in very leisurely fashion. 

‘‘Ay, tha’rt famous thrang,” flashed Martha. “Comes 
moaning an’ groaning, does Hiram, at after he’d done his day, 
an’ swears th’ wark goes nigh to kill him. An’ this is what 
it comes to most days, I reckon — loitering by stiles, an’ talk- 
ing foolishness to wenches ’at are ower busy to hearken ” 

“ Nay, lass, nay ! I wod liefer we didn’t part fratching.” 

“Well, hast getten owt to say ?” she asked, facing him 
abruptly. 

“ Say ? Well, now. Pm backard i’ coming forrard, as I 
telled thee — but tha’rt as snod-set-up a wench as iver ” 

“Thanks for nowt. Good-day, Hiram. Tha’rt backard 
i’ most things. Pm thinking,” said Martha, flouncing out into 
the yard. 

Hiram looked after her awhile, then shook his head. “ I 
war right to go slow,” he murmured. “Women’s alius so 
hasty, as if they war bahn to dee to-morn, an’ all to get done afore 
their burial. — Well, I mun see to yond tummit seeds, I reckon; 
but I wod like to know what Red Ratcliffe war up to ; sum- 
mat he’d getten at th’ back on his mind, but what it war beats 
me.” 

And something Red RatclifFe had in mind ; but what it 
was, and how nearly it touched those at Marsh, Hiram was 
not to learn this side the dawn. 


CHAPTER X 


WHAT CROSSED THE GARDEN-PATH 

Shameless Wayne, returning late on the day which had 
witnessed Hiram Hey’s cautious efforts toward wedlock, found 
his step-mother standing at the courtyard gate, a look of trou- 
ble in her face and her eyes fixed on the rounded spur of moor 
above. Wayne’s heart was growing daily harder against the 
strong, and softer where any sort of weakness was in case ; 
and the mad woman’s plight, her frailty and friendlessness, 
seemed to strike a fresh note of pity in him at each chance 
meeting. 

‘‘ What ails thee, little bairn ” he said, slipping from the 
saddle and coming close to her. 

She put one hand into his, with the trustfulness which only 
he was sure of winning from her. I have been frightened, 
Ned. It was to have been my wedding-morn, and I dressed 
all in white and went to church — and instead of the altar 
there was a great grave opened, and men fighting all about it 
— and I could not understand.” 

Never try. ’Tis over and done with long since ; the 
grave is shut down tight, — and all your ghosties with it, little 
one.” 

“ Is it over and done with ? ” she said. 

Her voice was passionless and clear, and Wayne was grow- 
ing more and more perplexed of late to know what lay beneath 
these sudden, wandering questions of his step-mother’s. 

Ay, ’tis over,” he said ; ‘‘ how should it be else ? See 
how the leaves are greening, and tell me who would think of 
graves on such an April eve as this ? ” 

“ The leaves are greening ? Nay, thou’rt jesting with me, 
they’re reddening, like the sun up yonder — like the long wisp 
of sky that trails across the brink-field there. And the graves, 
too, are red — they keep opening, opening, and I dread to look 
for fear of what may come from them. Hold both my hands 
tight, Ned — it should have been my wedding-morn, and a 

^35 


136 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


great trouble came, and now I can see no green fields, nor 
trees, for the red mist that hugs them. Dear, thou’lt not 
leave me ? ” 

Nay, ril not leave thee, little one,” began Wayne, and 
turned as a footstep sounded close behind them. 

Hiram Hey, crossing from the mistals, had caught sight of 
the Master and had stopped to ask for his orders touching the 
morrow’s farm-work — orders which he received day by day 
with the same grudging, half-scornful air, in token that the new 
rule liked him little. 

“ Th’ brink-field is sown, an’ we’re through wi’ ploughing 
them lower fields. What’s to be done next, Maister ? ” he 
asked with a side glance of curiosity at Mistress Wayne. 

Wayne was not minded to think of farming-matters to- 
night ; and Hiram, noting his mood, took a wry sort of pleas- 
ure in holding him to the topic. 

“ I thowt he’d get stalled afore so varry long,” said the old 
man to himself. Ay, he can’t bide to think o’ crops to- 
neet.” 

He began to rock with one foot the mossy ball that had 
lain so long under the right-hand pillar of the gateway ; and 
the set of his body spoke of leisure and of obstinacy. 

“ Well ? ” he asked at last. “ There’s marrow i’ what ye 
said to me a while back, Maister. Sleep ower th’ next day’s 
wark, an’ ye go wi’ a ready hand to it i’ th’ morn.” 

Wayne, following the motion of Hiram’s foot with impa- 
tient spleen, tried to bring his mind round to the matter, but 
could not. His meeting with Janet had left him out of heart 
and spent with the old struggle between love and kinship. 

‘‘ Pest take thee, come to me after supper for thy orders,” 
he began. Then, pointing to the stone, “ As a start,” he 
added, thou canst set that ball up on the gateway top. It 
wears an untidy look, and every day I’ve meant to tell thee of it.” 

Th’ gate-ball ? Ye’ll not know, happen, that it fell on 
th’ varry day your mother died ? An’ th’ owd Maister said ’at 
it should lig theer, being a sign i’ a way o’ speaking.” 

Hiram could always find excuse for evading a troublesome 
bit of work ; but his words brought a stranger light to the 
Master’s face than he had looked to see there. Superstitious 
at all times, the strained order of these latter days had rendered 
Wayne well-nigh as full of fancies as the Sexton’s wife; the 


WHAT CROSSED THE GARDEN-PATH 137 

stone here was a sign, and as such he would not tamper with 
it. 

“It shall lie there, Hiram,” he said slowly, “until the old 
Master is avenged on those who slew him. ’Tis a token, 
haply. — Come, little bairn,” he added, turning to his step- 
mother. “ Come with me while I put my horse in stable, 
and then we’ll sup together.” 

Hiram turned over the ball after Wayne had gone. “ Lord 
save us, there’s a power o’ fooil’s talk wends abroad,” he 
growled. “ What hes yond lump o’ stone getten to do wi’ 
th’ feud? A token, is’t? Well, I’m saved a bit o’ sweat- 
ing, so I’ll noan fratch about it.” 

Mistress Wayne followed Ned quietly, as some dumb fav- 
ourite might have done, and watched him stable his horse, 
leaning against the doorway the while and prattling of a hun- 
dred foolish matters. Then she fell silent for a space, and 
Shameless Wayne, glancing up, saw that she was crying bit- 
terly. Angered at his own impotence to help her, he spoke 
more gruffly than his wont. 

^‘Some one has frightened you. Who was ’t? ” he said. 

His peremptoriness seemed to bring back her memory. 
“’Twas — what call you him? — the man with the hard eyes 
and the lean face, and one ear clipped level with his cheek. 
He met me on the road this afternoon ” 

“ What, Nicholas Ratcliffe ? ” 

“ Ratcliffe — ^yes. He lives in a great drear house above 
Wildwater Pool, and once — nay, I cannot recall, ’tis so long 
ago; but I think he was cruel to me when I went to seek my 
lover. And to-day he stopped me as I tried to pass him by.” 

Wayne finished rubbing down his horse, then turned 
quietly. “ What said he ? ” he asked. 

“ Ned, don’t look so stern ! It frightens me. And thy 
voice is hard, too, as it was when I heard thee bid them throw 
the vault-stone down.” 

“ There are matters that make a man hard, little bairn. 
Was Nicholas Ratcliffe cruel to you ? ” 

“ Oh, so cruel,” she said, shivering. “ He looked through 
and through me, Ned, and laughed as I never heard any one 
laugh before, and asked me where I had found shelter. And 
when I told him he laughed again, and said that soon there 
would b^ none at Marsh to give me shelter. And then ” 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


138 

Aye — and then ? ” 

“ He — he told me all that he meant to do to thee, Ned ; 
and when I tried to run away he held me by the arm, and 
hurt me — see ! I carry the marks of it.’’ 

She lifted her sleeve and held out her arm to him ; and he 
nodded gravely as he saw the red finger-prints clear marked in 
red upon the dainty flesh. 

He hates thee, Ned,” she went on. ‘‘ Why should he 
hate thee ? I seem to have heard something — nay, it has 
gone ! — what has he against thee, dear ? ” 

Shameless Wayne laughed grimly. Less than I have 
against him, bairn. God, could he make sport of such as 
you ? ” 

Shall you kill him, Ned ? ” she asked, looking up sud- 
denly. 

He started at the question, voiced in so quiet and babyish 
a tone. God willing, little bairn,” he said, and was for 
crossing to the house, but she led him through the wicket that 
opened on the garden. 

Come see my flowers first, Ned,” she pleaded, forgetful 
altogether of her fright. There’s a clump of dalFy-down- 
dillies opening under the wall, and I bade them keep their eyes 
open till thou cam’st to say good-night to them. — ’Tis sum- 
mer-time, I think ; look at the lady’s slipper yonder, and the 
celandines — Is’t not strange there should be so sweet a spot 
among these dreadful moors ? I feel safer here always — as if 
none could do me hurt while I stayed with the flowers. Ned, 
wilt not stay here, too r The man with the hard face would 
never think to look for thee among the flowers, would he ? ” 

May be not,” he answered lightly. — See, bairn, your 
daffies have closed their eyes after all ; they could not hold up 
their heads for weariness, I warrant, when they found me so 
late in coming.” 

“ Shall I wake them, Ned ? ” she asked, looking gravely 
from the flowers to his face. 

Nay, let them be till morning, and then I’ll have a word 
with them. ’Tis supper-time, bairn, and we must not keep 
Nell waiting.” 

“ Nell does not shrink away from me as she did a little 
while ago,” said Mistress Wayne. 

He held his peace, wondering that this elf-like woman 


WHAT CROSSED THE GARDEN-PATH 139 


should note so many trifling matters that might well have 
escaped her ; and he was glad to think that Nell’s heart was 
softening to the other’s helplessness. 

Nell was already at table, with the lads and Rolf Wayne of 
Cranshaw, who had just ridden across to see that all was well 
at Marsh. The lads were eyeing a saddle of mutton wistfully, 
and their faces brightened soon as Shameless Wayne took his 
place at the head of the board. 

Hungry, lads ? ” he said, with a kindly glance at them. 
‘‘Well, and should be, after the rare work we’ve done to-day 
with sword and spear — Rolf, there’ll be four more fighting 
men at Marsh by and by ; these youngsters take to cut and 
parry like ducks to water.” 

“Ye’ll need more fighting men at Marsh,” said Rolf, 
gravely, and would have said more, but checked himself. 

“Likely,” said Shameless Wayne, glancing at his brothers. 
“ How fares it with the wounded up at Cranshaw ? ” 

“ As well as might be. We took some deepish cuts a fort- 
night since, and they’ll take time to heal.” 

Mistress Wayne ceased playing with her food, and looked 
steadfastly at Rolf. “ RatclifFe of Wildwater said ’twould 
never heal, when he met me on the road ; he saw me looking 
at his ear, I fancy, for he said ’twould never heal till Ned 
yonder had paid his price for the blow. Ay, but he’s hard, 
hard ! I shall hide Ned among the flowers lest they trap him 
some day on the moors.” 

Nell, seated next to her, whispered some soothing speech ; 
scorn was in the girl’s face yet, but it was plain that compas- 
sion was ousting her fierce hatred of her step-mother. Wayne 
of Cranshaw glanced across at Ned with gloomy wonder. 
The boys nudged one another, and laughed a little. But 
Mistress Wayne was already following a fresh fancy, and she 
paid no heed to the deep pause that followed her speech. 

“ See the moon peeping through the lattice ! ” she cried, 
moving to the door. “ It shames the candle-light in here ; 
thou’lt not be angered, Ned, if I slip away to the garden ? 
The fairy-folk come out of the daffy-bells, and they’ll miss 
me sadly if I do not go.” 

“ But, bairn, you’ve eaten naught.” 

“ Why, how fond thou art ! The fairies will not talk to 
me unless I seek them fasting.” 


140 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


She waved a light hand to him at the door and was gone. 
GrifF, the eldest of the lads, looked after her and then at 
Shameless Wayne. 

There’ll be more than fairies sporting in the moonlight — 
something plump-bodied and more toothsome,” he cried. 

The low pasture will be thick with hares j can we go down, 
Ned, and take the dogs with us ? ” 

Shameless Wayne did not answer just at once ; then, Ay, 
ye can go,” he said, if ye’ll keep to the low lands. The 
Wildwater hares are friskier, but ye must be content with 
worse sport. Dost promise. Griff? ” 

’Twould be the best sport of all to catch the Lean Man 
out of doors and set the dogs at him,” said Griff, with a laugh. 

Doubtless — but if Wildwater is in your minds, I shall 
keep you safe at home.” 

‘‘Well, then, we promise, Ned. Wilt let me have thy dog 
Rover ? There’s none at Marsh as quick on a hare’s track as 
he.” 

“ Ned, ought they to go,” put in his sister. “ ’Tis late, 
and you never know what cover hides a Ratcliffe.” 

“ Pish ! We must not coddle growing lads. — Off with you, 
and if ye take Rover, see that ye bring him back again ; I 
doubt he will not answer to your whistle as he does to mine.” 

“They’re likely lads, and stiff-set-up,” said Wayne of 
Cranshaw, as the four of them raced pell-mell out of the hall. 
“ But thou need’st more than these about thee, Ned.” 

Shameless Wayne squared his jaw, after a fashion that 
brought back his father to Nell’s mind. “ I’ve said nay once 
and for all to what thou hast in mind,” he answered. “ What, 
leave Marsh and show the white rabbit-scut to Nicholas Rat- 
cliffe ? ” 

“ Show that thou hast sense enough to know when the odds 
are all against thee. I tell thee, ye Marsh Waynes would 
never learn when to give ground. There’s fresh trouble 
brewing, Ned — and ’tis aimed all at thee.” 

“ How, at me ? Has the Lean Man, then, vowed friend- 
ship with Cranshaw and with Hill House ? ” 

“ Nay, but his hate is hottest against thee. He thought 
thee a fool, and he found thee somewhat different ; and he 
blames thee altogether for their defeat in the kirkyard.” 

“ How dost learn all this, Rolf ? ” 


WHAT CROSSED THE GARDEN-PATH 141 


‘‘ The Lean Man makes a boast of it up and down, and 
only to-night as I came through Marshcotes, they told me he 
had sworn to pin thy right hand to thy own door/’ 

‘‘ Why, that was what Mistress Wayne said just now,” cried 
Nell. Her eyes were fixed on her brother, and there was 
grief and something near to terror in them. 

Ay, her wandering talk hit straightish to the truth,” said 
Wayne of Cranshaw. “Whether ’twas guess-work on her 
part, or whether she did meet Nicholas in the road, I cannot 
say — but any village yokel will tell thee what the Lean Man’s 
purpose is. See, Ned, there are eight of us at Cranshaw; 
come and bring all thy folk with thee.” 

Shameless Wayne shook his head, and would have spoken, 
but the door was burst open suddenly and his brothers stood 
on the threshold, an unwonted gravity in their mien. 

“ The dogs are poisoned, Ned,” said GrifF. 

“ Poisoned ? What, all of them ? ” 

“ All. When we went into the courtyard we found Rover 
stretched by the well, his muzzle half in the water, and his 
body twisted all out of shape.” 

“ Hemlock,” muttered Ned. “ ’Twas grown on Wildwater 
soil. I’ll warrant.” 

“ Then we went to the kennels, and found the doors open, 
and all the dogs but one laid here and there. The white bitch 
was missing, but she has gone to some quiet corner, likely, to 
die.” 

“God’s curse on them!” cried Shameless Wayne, getting to 
his feet. “ Why should they fight with the poor brutes when 
they dare not face their master ? ” 

“ ’Tis but one more argument,” said Rolf quietly. “ Come 
to Cranshaw, Ned ; it is witless to forego a plain chance of 
safety.” 

“Take Nell and the women-folk, if they will go — but the 
lads and I stay here while there’s a roof to the four walls. 
Dost think I have not smirched the Marsh pride enough in 
times past ? ” 

“ That’s done with, Ned ; none doubts thee now, and 
thou’lt lose naught by seeking a safer dwelling.” 

“ The Lean Man wants me. Well, he knows where to 
find me. Did father play hide-and-seek, leaving the old place 
to be burned to the ground, when the feud was up aforetime ? ” 


142 


SHAxMELESS WAYNE 


He stayed — as thou wilt do,” said Nell, her pride un- 
daunted by any ebb and flow of danger. 

‘‘But, Nell, ’tis stubbornness — ’tis folly — ” began Wayne 
of Cranshaw. 

“That may be,” answered the girl, “but it is Wayne 
stubbornness, and I was reared on that. I stay, and Ned 
stays, and with God’s help we’ll worst the Lean Man yet.” 

Shameless Wayne crossed to where his sister sat and laid a 
hand on her shoulder. “We’ll worst him yet, Nell,” he said, 
and turned to leave them to their confidences. “ Why, where 
are the lads gone ? ” he cried, staring at the open door, through 
which a gentle breeze was blowing. 

“ They feared to miss their sport if they asked leave a sec- 
ond time,” said Rolf, “ and so they slipped away while thy 
back was turned to them.” 

“Young fools!” muttered Shameless Wayne, as he went 
out. “ Could they not keep to home when those who strew 
hemlock privily are within pistol-shot ? — I’ll walk round the 
yard and outbuildings, Rolf, and see if aught else has gone 
amiss.” 

“ Hadst better have company,” said Wayne of Cranshaw, 
moving to his feet. 

“Nay. The times are hard for love-making; take thy 
chance while thou hast it, Rolf, or it may not come again.” 

Rolf looked after him, and wondered at his bitterness. But 
Nell, remembering Janet Ratcliffe, knew well enough which 
way her brother’s thoughts were tending, and she sighed im- 
patiently. 

“ ’Tis well to love by kinship,” she said. 

Rolf missed her meaning, being full of his own fears for 
her. 

“ I’ve loved thee well, dear, and I fear to lose thee,” he 
said, after a silence. “ Wilt wed me out of hand and let me 
take thee safe to Cranshaw ? ” 

“ Not yet, Rolf. I cannot.” Her voice was low ; but he 
gleaned scant hope even from its tenderness. 

“ Think,” he urged. “ It is hard to have waited for the 
good day — waited through summer heat and winter frost, 
Nell — and then to see such danger lying on the threshold as 
may rob me of my right in thee. Thou know’st these Rat- 
cliffe swine ; a woman’s honour is cheap as a man’s life to 


WHAT CROSSED THE GARDEN-PATH 143 

them. Lass, give me the right to have thee in keeping day 
and night.” 

“ Some day, Rolf — but not yet.” 

‘‘ Thou hast scant love for me, or none at all,” he flashed, 
pacing moodily up and down the hall. 

That is not true, Rolf, and thou know’st it ; but I have 
love for the old home, too, and love for Ned. Fm young, 
dear, as years go, but there’s none save me to mother them at 
Marsh. What would Ned do, what would the lads do, if I 
left them to fight it out alone? And Ned” — she faltered a 
little — Ned is very new to repentance, and who knows how 
the wind would shift if he had none to care for him ? ” 

He would follow thee to Cranshaw — where I would have 
him be.” 

Nay, but he would not ! If he stood alone, without a 
sword to his hand, he would wait here for what might come.” 

Still he pleaded with her, and still she held to her resolve. 
And at last he gave up the struggle. 

None knows what the end will be, but we must win 
through it somehow,” he said. 

And then, her object gained, she crept close to his embrace, 
and, Rolf,” she whispered, how can Ned fight the Lean Man 
and all his folk ? Is it true that he is the first victim chosen ? ” 

I fear it, lass.” 

But, dear, I cannot bear to lose him ! I cannot.” 

‘‘ What, all thy bravery gone ? There, hide thy face 
awhile — the tears will ease thee. There’s hope for the lad 
yet, Nell, for he means to live and he has a ready sword-arm.” 

Shameless Wayne, meanwhile, had gone the round of the 
farm-buildings, railing at the wantonness which had bidden 
the RatclifFes kill the best hounds in Marshcotes; but beyond 
the dogs’ stiffened bodies he had found no sign of mischief. 
Restless, and ill-at-ease about the lads’ safety, he wandered 
into the garden in search of the frail little woman who had 
gone thither to seek the fairies. He said nothing of his 
troubles nowadays to Nell or to any of his kinsfolk ; but Mis- 
tress Wayne offered the trusty, unquestioning sympathy that 
a horse or any other dumb animal might give, and day by day 
he was growing more prone to drop into confidences when he 
found himself alone with her, half-smiling at his folly, yet 
gleaning a sort of consolation from the friendship. 


144 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


She was standing by the sun-dial when he found her to- 
night. The moonlight was soft in her neatly ordered hair and 
flower-like face, and Shameless Wayne thought that surely 
she was nearer kin to the other world of ghosts than to this 
workaday earth which had already proved too hard for her. 

Well, were the fairies kind to you ? ” he asked, leaning 
against the dial and watching the moon-shadows play across 
her face. 

She pointed to a green ring traced in the blue-white dew- 
drops that gemmed the lawn. Yes, they were kind,” she 
said, “ I’m friends with them, thou know’st, and they came 
and danced for me round yonder ring.” 

‘‘ And what has come of them ? Did I scare them all 
away, little bairn ? ” 

‘‘ Oh, no,” she answered gravely. ‘‘ They guessed, I 
think, that I was weary of them, and scampered off before 
thou earnest. Wilt mock me, Ned, if I tell thee some- 
thing ? ” 

He did not answer — only shook his head and put his arm 
more closely round her. 

“ It is all so dark and strange. I seemed to fall asleep long, 
long ago, and then I woke to a new world — a world of mists 
and moonlight, Ned, where the human folk move like shadows 
and only the fairies and the ghosts are real. The fairies 
claimed me for their own, and I was content until I saw the 
wee birds nesting and the spring come in. But now I’m 
hungry, Ned, for something that the fairies cannot give.” 
She stopped ; then, Didst meet thy lady-love to-day ? ” she 
asked. 

Wayne’s eyes went up toward the hills that cradled Wild- 
water. Hast a queer touch, bairn, on a man’s hidden 
wounds,” he said, after a silence. “ Did I meet my lady- 
love ? Nay, but I met one who is playing the will-o’-the- 
wisp to my feet — one whom I love or loathe. Who told 
thee, child, that I had seen her ? ” 

“ I think it was Hiram Hey ; he was telling Nanny when 
I went, into the kitchen how he had seen you cross the moors 
with her.” 

Trust Hiram to pass on the tale ! ” muttered Wayne. 

“ Ned, ’tis a drear world, and thou’rt not right to make it 
harder,” said the little woman, turning suddenly to him. 


WHAT CROSSED THE GARDEN-PATH 145 


‘‘ Somewhere, in a far-away land, I once met love and scorned 
him ; and I have lacked him ever since, dear.” 

He bent toward her eagerly ; so grave and full of wit she 
seemed, and haply she was a better riddle-reader than he dur- 
ing these brief moments when she slipped into touch again 
with the things of substance. But the light was already pale 
in her childish eyes, and soon she was laughing carelessly as 
she traced the moon’s shadow on the dial with one slender 
forefinger. 

“ See, Ned ! ” she cried. It points to mid-day, when all 
the while we know ’tis long past gloaming. I wouldn’t keep 
so false a time-piece if I were thou ; the dandelions make 
better clocks at seeding-time.” 

The night was warm, and the moon-shadows of the gable- 
ends scarce flickered on the grass ; but on the sudden a little 
puff of icy wind came downward from the moors and 
whimpered dolefully. 

“ The night wears shrewd, bairn, and we’ve talked moon- 
nonsense long enough,” said Wayne sharply, turning to go in- 
doors. He was sore that she had lost the thread of reason 
just when he most needed guidance. 

But Mistress Wayne was shivering under a keener wind 
than ever was bred in the hollow of the sky, and her face was 
piteous as she followed her companion with her eyes. Ned, 
canst not see it ? ” she stammered. 

See what ? The shadows lengthening across your fairy- 
ring ? ” he said, impatiently. 

“ He crept behind thee — he’s fawning to thy hand — shake 
him off, Ned, shake him off ! Such a great beast he is — — ” 

Shameless Wayne glanced sharp behind him. By the 
Heart, ’tis Barguest she sees ! ” he muttered. 

‘‘ Thou canst not help but see him — his coat is brown 
against thy darker wear — he’s pressed close against thee, now, 
as if he fears for thee.” 

He could see naught, but there were those who had the 
second sight, he knew, and the old dreads crept cold about his 
heart. “Would God the lads were safe indoors,” he mut- 
tered. 

“ How if it be thou he comes to warn ? ” she whispered. 

He laughed harshly. “ I’ve over many loads on my 
shoulders, bairn, to slip them off so lightly ; but the lads are 


146 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


young to life yet, and full of heart — ’twould be like one of 
Fortune’s twists to send them across the Lean Man’s path.” 

Hark, Ned, didst hear ? ” she broke in, as a low whistle 
sounded through the leafing garden-trees. 

Shameless Wayne could not find his manhood all at once ; 
but at last he shook himself free of dread a little. Ay, I 
heard some poor hound whimpering — it has crept away to 
die, belike, after eating what those cursed RatclifFes dropped. 
Come, child ! There’s naught save ague to be gained by 
staying among the night dews here.” 


CHAPTER XI 


HOW THE RATCLIFFES RODE OUT BY STEALTH 

The moon was crisp and clear over the low pastures when 
GrifF and his brothers went down for the hunting. Wayne 
of Cranshaw had hit the truth when he said that they feared 
denial from Shameless Wayne, and so had slipped out quietly 
while their elders were discussing the old vexed topic as to 
whether Marsh should be left to its fate. 

^^Ned will not leave the old place,” said GrifF, as they 
crossed the first field. 

“ Not while he has us to help him to fight,” answered Bob, 
the youngest, drawing himself to as full a height as his four- 
teen years allowed. 

There’s naught in it,” grumbled a third. Ned would 
not let us go to the kirkyard that day, and there was a merry 
fight — and now all’s as tame as a chushat on the nest. I 
thought the Lean Man would come down and let us have a 
spear-thrust at him ; but we never see a RatclifFe now, and 
’tis hard after learning so many tricks of fence.” 

“ Bide awhile,” answered GrifF sagely. There’ll be frolic 
yet if we can but wait for it. Dost think they poisoned the 
dogs for naught ? ” 

For spleen, likely, because Ned worsted them the other 
day ; but if they do no more than that — GrifF, ’twould have 
been rare sport to have gone up to Wildwater to-night.” 

GrifF halted and glanced wistfully at the surly crest of moor 
above. Nay ; we gave our promise,” he said, with mani- 
fest reluctance. 

How are we to hunt without the dogs ? ” put in Rob. 
‘‘We left all our weapons in hall when we crept out so 
hastily — Good hap, there goes a fine fat fellow ! We’re 
missing the best of the moonlight with all this talk of a Lean 
Man who never shows his face.” 

They all four stood and watched the hare swing up the field 
and over the misty crest j knobby and big and brown the 

147 


148 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


beast showed, and his stride was like the uneasy gallop of a 
horse whose knees are stiffening. 

‘‘We’ll miss no more such chances,” cried GrifF. “There 
are two dogs at the Low Farm ; let’s rouse old Hiram Hey 
out of his bed and get the loan of them.” 

Hiram Hey was not abed, as it chanced, but a rushlight was 
in his hands and his foot on the bottom stair when GrifF’s 
masterful rat-tat sounded on the door. 

“ What’s agate ” he growled, opening the door a couple of 
inches. “ Christian folk should be ligged i’ bed by now, 
i’stead o’ coming an’ scaring peaceable bodies out o’ their 
wits ” 

“ Thou’st little wit to be scared out of, Hiram,” laughed 
Rob. 

The door opened a foot-breadth wider. “ Oh, it’s ye, is 
’t Ay, there’s shameless doings now up at Marsh. I’ th’ 
owd Maister’s days ye’d hev been abed at sunset, that ye 
wod.” 

“We carry arms now, and know how to use them ; so keep 
a civil tongue in thy tousled head,” said GrifF, with a great air 
of dignity. “We want to borrow thy dogs, Hiram.” 

“ Oh, that’s it ? Well, how if th’ dogs are anot to be hed 
at ony lad’s beck an’ call ? ” 

“ We’ll take them without a by-your-leave in that case. 
Come, Hiram, the hares are cropping moon-grass so ’twould 
make thy old mouth water just to see them.” 

“Let ’em crop for owt I care. What’s corned to th’ Marsh 
kennels that ye mud needs go borrowing ? ” 

“ Hemlock has come to them, and there’s not one left alive.” 

Hiram Hey whistled softly, and set down his candle 
and came out into the moonlight. “ That’s not a bad start 
for a war finish,” he said, turning his head to the low hill 
which hid the house from him, as if expecting some sound of 
tumult. 

“Well, ’tis done, and we’re missing sport the while,” said 
GrifF, with a lad’s peremptoriness. “ I can hear those dogs 
of thine yelping in the yard yonder. Loose them, Hiram.” 

Hiram did as he was bid, with many a grumble by the way ; 
then stood and watched the lads go racing over the pastures, 
the dogs running fast in front of them. “ There’s bahn to be 
trouble, choose who hears me say ’t,” he muttered. “ Ay, I 


RODE OUT BY STEALTH 


149 


knew how ’twould be when I see’d young Maister fly-by- 
skying wi’ yond RatclifFe wench ; ’tis a judgment on him, sure. 
Ay, ’tis a judgment ; an’ hard it is that we should be killed i’ 
our beds for sake of a lad’s unruliness. — What, th’ dogs is 
gi’eing tongue already? Well, I’d hev liked to see th’ sport, 
if my legs war a thowt less stalled wi’ wark.” 

Hiram had been asleep a good two hours before the chase 
was over. Pasture after pasture was drawn, the lads’ zest 
waxing keener with each fresh kill, until they had more hares 
than they could carry. 

Look at the moon, lads ! She’s nearing Worm’s Hill al- 
ready, and half a league from home,” panted GrifF, as he tried 
to add the last hare to his load. 

Ned will have somewhat to say to this,” laughed Rob ; 
“ but faith ’twas worth all the scolding he can cram into a 
week.” 

‘‘ Ay, was it, but we’ll put the best foot forward now. Let’s 
leave half the hares under the sheep-hole in the wall yonder, 
or we shall never get back to Marsh till midnight. — There. 
They’ll keep till morning safe enough, unless some shepherd’s 
dog should nose them.” 

They set ofF at a steady trot, stopped at the Low Farm to 
close the yard gate on their borrowed dogs, and then took a 
straight course for Marsh. But breath failed them as they 
neared the homestead ; their pace dwindled to a walk, and not 
even noisy Rob could muster speech of any sort. The moon 
was out of sight now behind the house, leaving the field that 
hugged the outbuildings in a grey half-light — a light so puz- 
zling to the eyes that GrifF, when he thought he saw the dim 
figure of a man crossing from the peat-shed to the yard, told 
himself that fancy was playing tricks with him. But Rob had 
seen the figure, too, and he clutched his brother’s arm. 

“ What is that moving yonder ? ” he whispered. 

A second figure, and a third, came shadowy-vague through 
the low doorway of the shed, and GrifF could see now that 
each man carried an armful of peats, or ling, or bracken — he 
could not tell which. Fetching a compass up the field-side, 
the four of them turned and crept under shelter of the house, 
and so on tip-toe across the courtyard till the hall-door showed 
in front of them. The light was clearer here, though they 
were hidden altogether in the shadows, and they could see a 


150 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


tall fellow piling a last armful on the heap of ling and bracken 
that already mounted to the doorway-top. 

They mean to fire the house ! ” muttered GrilF, and felt 
for his brothers in the dark and drew them about him in a nar- 
row ring. 

There were three of them — what has come to the other 
two ? ” whispered Rob. 

Griff drew in his breath and nipped the other’s arm till 
he all but cried out with pain. “ There are three doors to the 
house, likewise. Dost not see the plan They have us 
housed safe as rattens in a gin, they think, and they mean to 
block up every door with flames. Hush ! Yond lean-bodied 
rogue is turning his head this way.” 

The man at the door had finished making his heap, and had 
turned sideways as if listening for some signal. Griff thought 
that he had heard them, but a second glance showed him that 
the man’s regard was away from their corner — showed him, too, 
a lean face, cropped level where' the right ear should have been. 

’Tis the Lean Man himself!” said Griff. God, why 
did we leave our swords indoors — we can do naught — saw ye 
his pistols and his sword-hilt glinting when he turned ? ” 

We’ve got our wish, and by the Heart, we’ll lilt at the 
Lean Man, armed or not armed,” answered Rob, his voice 
threatening to rise above a whisper for very gaiety. 

A low call sounded from behind the house ; a second an- 
swered from the side toward the orchard. The Lean Man 
whipped flint and steel from his pocket, and struck a quick 
shower of sparks, and on the instant a roaring stream of fire 
shot upward from the bracken to the ling, and from the ling to 
the dark pile of peats. 

^^’Tis done. Fools that we were to raise no cry,” groaned 
Griff. 

Time had been hanging heavily meanwhile with Wayne of 
Cranshaw and his cousin. Shameless Wayne, when he came 
in from the garden with his step-mother, found Rolf fixed in 
his resolve to spend the night at Marsh. 

‘‘ After what chanced to the dogs,” he said, they may 
strike to-night as well as any other — and strike they mean to, 
soon or late. There’s no need for me at Cranshaw, and one 
arm the more here is worth something to thee, Ned, as thy 
numbers go.” 


RODE OUT BY STEALTH 


151 

Yes, stay,” said Nell, her eyes dancing bright now that 
danger showed close at hand — and if they come, we’ll give 
them a brisker welcome than they look for.” 

‘‘Well, if ye will have it so; but I doubt there’ll be no 
attack to-night,” muttered Shameless Wayne. “They move 
slowly, the RatclifFes, and strike when ye least expect them. — 
A pest to those lads. Do they mean to scour the fields till 
daybreak ? — Nell, get to bed, and see that the little bairn is 
cared for. She’s in one of her eerie moods to-night ; thou’lt 
treat her kindly ? ” 

“ As far as I can master kindness toward her. Wilt call 
me, Ned, if — if ye need another arm to fight ? ” 

“Tut, lass! There’ll be no fight. Pay no heed to Rolf 
when he tries to scare thee. There I Good-night. Give 
the bairn somewhat to stay her fast, for she ate naught at sup- 
per.” 

“ What has Mistress Wayne ever done that Ned’s first 
thought should always be for her ? Ah, but I hate her still, 
though God knows I cannot altogether kill my pity,” said 
Nell to herself as she went up the stair in search of her un- 
welcome charge. 

The two men drew close about the fire after Nell had left 
them. A flagon of wine stood between them, and an open 
snuff-box ; but the wine stayed untasted, and the box was 
scarce passed from hand to hand as they stared into the fire, 
each busy with his own thoughts. 

“ I fear for those lads, curse them. How if I ride down to 
the low pastures to make sure that naught has happened to 
them and to bring them home ? ” said Shameless Wayne, 
breaking a long silence. 

“ What, and leave the house ? The lads are safe enough, 
Ned ; ’tis thou, not they, the Lean Man aims at, and if he 
comes, ’twill be to Marsh.” 

“ Art right — yet still I would liefer have them behind stout 
walls at this late hour.” 

Again they fell into silence. Both had had a long day, 
the one on foot, the other in the saddle, and presently 
Rolf was nodding drowsily. Shameless Wayne, glancing 
at him, wished that he could follow suit ; but each time 
he dozed for a moment some memory came and stirred 
him into restlessness. He thought of Barguest creeping close 


152 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


beside him in the garden ; he wondered what thread of subtle 
wit ran through the tangled skein of the mad woman’s talk ; 
he remembered what she had said to him of his love for Janet 
Ratcliffe. 

‘‘Take love while thou hast it; why make the world a 
sourer place than 'tis already ? — Was not that what she said 
to me?” he murmured. “Well, she is fairy-kist, and they 
say that when such give advice ’tis ever safe to follow it. 
Christ, if I could but take love tight in both my hands, and 
laugh at kinship. — Nay, though ! Like a deep bog it stands 
’twixt her and me ; and who shall cross so foul a marsh as 
that ? ” 

He could not rid himself of the feverish round of thought, 
till at last Janet’s face came and smiled at him from every 
glooming corner of the hall. He got to his feet, and paced the 
floor ; and once he stopped at the wine-flagon and reached out 
a hand for it. 

“ Not again,” he said, his arm dropping lifeless to his side. 
“ There’s no peace along that road when once — God curse 
the girl ! I have said nay, and will say it to the fiftieth time ; 
why should she haunt me like my own shadow ? ” 

He looked at Rolf, slumbering deep by the hearth ; and he 
laughed sourly to think that one man could sleep while another 
moved heavy-footed with his troubles across the creaking 
boards. He sat down again, and watched his cousin listlessly ; 
and little by little his own head dropped forward, and his eyes 
closed, and Janet and he were wandering, a dream boy and 
dream girl, up by the grey old kirkstone that kept watch over 
lovers’ vows among the rolling wastes of heath. 

He stirred uneasily, and Rolf’s voice came vaguely to him 
from across the hearth. “ Get up, Ned ! The hall is full of 
smoke — the flames are whistling up the house-side ” 

“ Where’s the little bairn ? She must be looked to. Nell 
has wit enough to save herself,” said Shameless Wayne 
sleepily. 

Wayne of Cranshaw shook him to his feet. “ They’ve fired 
the door ! Get out thy sword, Ned, and step warily.” 

Ned was full awake by now ; and as he rushed to the main 
door, his thoughts were neither of himself nor Nell, but of 
the house that had weathered fire and flood and tempest through 
a half-score generations of Waynes. 


RODE OUT BY STEALTH 


153 


The flames sing from without. There's no fire inside as 
yet. We can save the old place still/’ he cried, swinging back 
the heavy cross-beam that bolted the door. 

Stop, thou fool ! ” said the other, checking him. Dost 
think the trap is not set plain enough, that thou should’st go 
smoke-blinded on to a RatclifFe sword-point ? We must try 
the side door leading to the orchard.” 

But Nell was downstairs by this time, with Mistress Wayne 
close behind her. ‘‘ Ned, the kitchen-door’s a-blaze, and the 
orchard door,” she gasped — and see — the oak is beginning to 
crack yonder, for all its thickness.” 

Shameless Wayne threw off his cousin’s grasp, and drew 
the staples and turned the cumbrous key. The sweat stood 
on his forehead, and iron and wood alike were blistering to the 
touch. He jerked the door wide open, and over the threshold 
a live, glowing bank of peats fell dumbly on to the floor-boards. 
He strove to cross into the open, but could not ; and athwart 
the red-blue reek he saw the Lean Man’s eyes fixed steadfastly 
on his. 

“ God’s mercy, this is what Barguest came to tell thee of,” 
said Mistress Wayne, standing ghost-like and strangely undis- 
mayed in the lurid light. 

What, thou saw’st him ! ” cried Nell, her eyes widening 
with a terror no power of will could stifle. Ned, keep 
back ! Keep back, I say ! — Ah ! ” as he tried to cross the 
flames and fell back half-blinded — thanks to Our Lady that 
they lit so hot a fire.” 

The four lads, meanwhile, hidden in their corner of the 
courtyard, had watched the scene with sick dismay — had heard 
Ned unbar the door — had seen the Lean Man draw nearer, 
his bare blade reddened by the fire — had heard him laugh and 
mutter like a ghoul as he waited till the heat dwindled enough 
to let Shameless Wayne come through to him. This way and 
that GrifF looked about him, seeking a weapon and finding 
none, his brain rocking with the thought of all that rested on 
his shoulders; and then his eyes brightened, and he stepped 
unheard amid the hissing of the flames, to where the smooth, 
round stone lay that had lately capped the right pillar of the 
gateway. A moment more and he was behind the Lean Man ; 
he lifted the stone as high as unformed arms would let him, 
and hurled it full between Nicholas RatclifFe’s shoulder- 


^54 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


blades, and dropped him face foremost on to the flaming 
threshold. 

‘^A Wayne! A Wayne!” he cried, and after him his 
three brothers took up the ringing call. 

The Lean Man put his hand out as he fell, and twisted 
with a speed incredible till he was free of the flames ; and 
then he scrambled to his feet somehow, and tottered forward. 

‘‘ On to him, lads,” cried Griff, and would have closed with 
him, but Nicholas rallied, and picked up his fallen sword, and 
moved backward to the gateway, swinging the steel wide be- 
fore him. The lads gave back a pace or two, but he dared 
not stop to pay them for their night’s work ; his eyes were 
dimming, and his right hand loosening on the hilt, and he knew 
that his course was run if Shameless Wayne should cross the 
threshold before he found a hiding-place. Griff watched him 
go, his fingers itching all anew for his unfleshed sword ; and 
just as Nicholas staggered through the gate, the two Ratcliffes 
who had kept ward at the other doors came running round the 
corner of the house, ready to close with those who had given 
the cry. ‘‘A Wayne, a Wayne!” They found four lads 
against them, standing unarmed, and straight, and fearless alto- 
gether, in the crimson glow. 

Why, what’s this ? ” said Red Ratcliffe, half halting. 
‘‘ Have these sickling babes driven old Nicholas off ? ” 

‘‘ Ay,” answered Griff, not budging by one backward step ; 

and would drive you off, too, ye Ratcliffe redheads, if we 
had any weapon to our hands.” 

Red Ratcliffe rapped out an oath and made headlong at the 
lad. And Shameless Wayne, seeing all this from across the 
gathering flames, leaped wide across the threshold, and landed 
on the outskirts of the fire, and cut Red Ratcliffe’s blade up- 
ward in the nick of time. The other Ratcliffe drove in at 
him, then, and turned his blade in turn, and the fight waxed 
swift and keen for one half-moment ; then Wayne got shrewdly* 
home, and dropped his man close under the house-wall ; and 
Red Ratcliffe, waiting for no second stroke, had turned and 
flashed through the gateway toward the moor before Wayne 
had guessed his purpose. 

Shameless Wayne made as if to pursue; but the crackling 
of the flames behind warned him that there must be no delay 
if Marsh were to be saved. 


RODE OUT BY STEALTH 


155 

‘‘To the mistals, lads. Bring buckets and fill them at the 
well-spring ! ” he cried. 

Grilf and others needed no second bidding, but ran with 
him across the courtyard and pushed open the mistal-doors. 
The cows were lying quiet in their stalls ; the place was fra- 
grant with their breath, and every now and then there sounded 
a faint rattling through the gloom as one or other fidgetted 
sleepily on her chain. Shameless Wayne, dark as it was, 
knew where to lay hands on the feeding-buckets that were 
stored here in readiness for the coming summer ; and soon he 
and Griff, and the three youngsters, were dashing water over 
the blazing threshold of the main door as fast as they could 
cross to the well and back again. Nell, meanwhile, once she 
had seen her brother safe through the fire and safe through 
the quick fight that followed, had found heart again. 

“ Did I not bid you call me if one more arm were needed ? ” 
she cried, with a touch of her old spirit. “ See, Rolf, the 
floor is smouldering now, and the panels are starting from the 
wall. We must get through the kitchen-door and fetch water 
from the well behind. — What, has the fire roused thee at last, 
Martha? Come with us — and thou, Mary.” 

The maids, who had crept down in fearful expectation of 
what might meet them below-stairs, followed cheerfully when 
they found no worse enemy than fire to meet. The kitchen- 
door fell inward as they reached it, but there was little danger 
on this side, for floor and walls were of stone, and the peats 
could find no feul. Wayne of Cranshaw stamped out the 
embers, and they all ran, a bucket in either hand to the well 
that stood just outside the door, and thence back to the hall ; 
and while those in the courtyard rained water on the one side 
of the flames, Wayne of Cranshaw and the women-folk on 
the other side kept down the smouldering fire that threatened 
every moment to set the hall ablaze from roof to rafters. For 
a fierce half-hour they worked, Nell bearing her full share of 
the toil, until the last angry eye of fire was quenched. 

“ Begow, if last week’s wind hed been fly-be-skying up an’ 
dahn, there’d hev been little left o’ Marsh ; ’tis a mercy th’ 
neet war so still,” said Martha, standing in her wonted easiful 
attitude and looking through the gaping doorway. 

“ A mercy, say’st ’a ? ” snapped Mary, whose eyes were on 
the spears and swords that lined the walls. “ A mercy, when 


156 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


there’ll be all yond steel to rub bright again to-morn ? Sakes, 
I wodn’t hev thowt th’ smoke could hev so streaked an’ 
fouled ’em — an’ ’twas only yestreen I scoured ’em, too. 
Well, let them thank th’ Lord as thank can, but for me I’ll 
hod my whisht.” 

Shameless Wayne was likewise looking at the blackened 
walls, and Rolf saw that same light in his eyes that had been 
there when he stood at the vault-edge, and bade them bury 
alive the fallen RatcliiFes. Nell, too, was watching him, and 
she, who had never before feared him, knew now that there 
were deeps and under-deeps in her brother’s nature which she 
had yet to plumb. 

What art thinking, Ned ? ” she asked, laying a timid hand 
on his sleeve. 

Thinking ? ” he said slowly. I’m thinking that Marsh 
was all but blotted out — and I am learning how I loved the 
place. Keep guard awhile here, Rolf. I have an errand that 
will take me to the moors.” 

Lad, thou’rt fay ! ” cried Wayne of Cranshaw, as his 
cousin moved toward the door. ‘‘ Dost mean to seek the 
Lean Man out ? ” 

Shameless Wayne turned and smiled in curious fashion. 

Nay, only to leave a message for him on the road ’twixt 
this and Wildwater.” 

“ Oh, Ned, I know what ’tis ! ” cried his sister, with sudden 
intuition. ‘‘ For God’s sake, dear, leave that to the RatclifFes ; 
it is not — not seemly to tamper with the dead.” She pointed 
across the black remnants of the peats that strewed the thresh- 
old, and shuddered knowing what lay so close against the 
house-wall there. 

Wayne flashed round on her, and the four lads, listening 
awe-struck from the far-end of the hall, shrank further back 
to hear the clear bitterness of voice he had. 

All shall be seemly henceforth — all, I say ! I’ll hunt the 
Lean Man as he hunts me — ay, and his tokens shall be mine. 
Hark ye, Nell ! We’re over soft, we Waynes — Come 
here, lads,” he broke off, beckoning to his brothers. 

GrifF came and stood before him, the others following 
slowly. ‘‘Yes, Ned ? ” he asked, breaking a hard silence. 

“Ye were fools to stand up to Red RatclifFe as I saw you 
do to-night. They would never do the like.” 


RODE OUT BY STEALTH 


157 

“Was’t not well done, then? ” said the lad, the corners of 
his mouth drooping. 

Wayne laughed exceeding softly. Ay, ’twas done as I 
would have you do it. God rest you, youngsters, and when 
your turn comes to hold the weapons — strike deep and swift.” 

He was gone without another word, and Nell looked at 
Wayne of Cranshaw in search of guidance. 

Rolf shook his head. ‘‘As well dam Hazel Beck with 
straws as stop Ned when the black mood is on him,” he said. 

They heard him stop just outside the door, then clank across 
the courtyard ; and soon the sound of hoof-beats was dying 
down the chill breeze that rustled from the moors. 

Too sick at heart to listen to her cousin’s rough words of 
comfort, Nell wandered up and down the house disconsolately, 
till at the last her walk brought her to the side-passage leading 
to the orchard. They had forgotten this third point of attack 
in their eagerness to save the hall ; but here, too, though the 
door had fallen in, the bare walls and flagged passage had 
given no hold to the flames, which were burning themselves 
out harmlessly. Yet the girl went pale as her eyes fell on 
what the flickering light showed her at the far end of the pas- 
sage, and she moved forward like one who strives to throw 
off an evil dream. Crouched above the smouldering wreck- 
age, her hands spread white and slim to the glow, was Mis- 
tress Wayne; and she was crooning happily some ballad 
learned in childhood. She looked up as Nell approached, and 
smiled, and rubbed her hands gently to and fro across each 
other. 

“ Barguest was cold, poor beastie, so he lit a fire to warm 
himself. Is’t not a pretty sight ? ” she said. 

Nell bent to her ear. “ What of Ned ? ” she asked. Her 
voice was tremulous, beseeching, for she knew that such as 
these had power to read the future. “ What of Ned ? Will 
he come back safe to-night ? ” she repeated. 

“ Safe ? Why, yes — Ee’s kind to me ; how should he come 
to harm ? ” 


CHAPTER XII 


HOW THEY FARED BACK TO WILDWATER 

Red Ratcliffe, soon as he had gained the moor, made for 
the shallow dingle where they had left the horses on their way 
to Marsh. He found his grandfather standing with one foot 
in the stirrup, striving vainly to leap to saddle ; and he saw 
that the Lean Man’s face was scarred with fire, and his hands 
red-raw on the reins. 

It has been a hard night for us,” said the younger man. 
The words came dully, with terror unconcealed in them. 

Nicholas let his foot trail idly from the stirrup, and stum- 
bled as he faced about ; but his eye was hawk-like as ever, 
and his tone as harsh. ‘‘ A hard night — ay. There’s a long 
reckoning now ’gainst Shameless Wayne. How comes it that 
thou rid’st alone ? ” 

‘‘Wayne leaped through the fire and cut Robert down ; and 
I ” 

“ Fled, I warrant. What, could ye not meet him two to 
one ? ” 

“There’s witchcraft in it,” muttered the other sullenly. 
“Didst see him fight that day in the kirkyard ? Well, last 
night it was the same ; he sweeps two blows in for every one 
of ours, and his steel zags down like lightning before a man’s 
eye can teach his hand to parry. I tell you, some boggart 
fights for the Waynes of Marsh, and always has done.” 

The Lean Man nodded quietly. “ Ay, is there — for I’ve 
seen the boggart. — There, fool, don’t stand gaping at me like 
a farm-hind at a fair ! Help me to saddle, for I am — ” he 
paused, and forced a laugh — “ I am weary a little with the 
ride from Wildwater to Marsh. And lead the chestnut by the 
bridle ; we must find him a fresh master, ’twould seem.” 

Red RatclifFe helped him up, marvelling to find that Nicho- 
las, who was wont to be active as the best of them, had no 
spring in his body, no knee-grip when at last his feet were in 
the stirrups. He stole many a glance at the old man’s face 

158 


HOW THEY FARED TO WILDWATER 159 


as they rode up the moor, and marked a change in it — a pal- 
pable change, which he could not understand, but which added 
a new dread to the heaviness that was already weighing on 
him. 

“ Robert is dead, I take it ? ’’ said Nicholas, as they passed 
the square-topped stone that marked one boundary of the 
Wild water lands. 

“ Dead ? Ay, for the lad cleft his skull in two clean 
halves.” 

Robert was the Lean Man’s eldest-born ; but if he had any 
touch of fatherly sorrow for the dead, he would not show it. 

’Tis a pity,” was all he said ; ‘‘ he had the best hand of all 
you younger breed. — The miles crawl past, lad, and the thirst 
of Hell is on me ; get thee down and fill thy hat in the stream 
yonder.” 

Red RatclilFe brought the water, and the old man stooped 
eagerly to it, then glanced behind him on the sudden and 
stifled a low groan. 

‘‘ What is’t ? ” cried his grandson. ‘‘ See, sir, the water’s 
trickling through ; there’ll be none left unless you drink.” 

“ I — I thought — ” stammered Nicholas, and pulled himself 
together with an effort. ‘^’Twas only a fresh dizziness. 
There ! Fill up again ; the water will clear my wits, belike.” 

He drank greedily, and his knees were firmer on the saddle- 
flaps when they rode on. I’ll fight the pair of them, God 
rot them,” he mumbled, slipping clumsily to ground as they 
gained the door of Wildwater. 

Janet, hearing them ride under her chamber window, woke 
from a troubled sleep and ran to open the casement. All day 
her grandfather had worn the air of grim gaiety which she had 
learned to fear, and the lateness of his home-coming told her 
which way his errand had lain. 

‘‘They have made a night-attack,” she murmured, fumbling 
blindly with the window-fastening. “ And what of Shame- 
less Wayne ? If — if aught has chanced to him ” 

She wrenched the window open and peered down into the 
courtyard. The moon, dropping toward the high land that 
stretched from Wildwater to the four corners of the sky, 
gave light enough to show her Nicholas and close behind him 
Red Ratcliffe with the bridle of a riderless horse in his right 
hand. These were her folkj but the giro’s heart leaped at 


i6o 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


sight of the empty saddle, at the slowness of the Lean Man’s 
movements, for these things told her that defeat had ridden 
home across the moor with them. 

Nicholas, hearing the creak of the casement above, glanced 
sharply up. ‘‘Is’t thou, Janet ? ” he called. 

Ay, grandfather. Have ye — have ye been a-hunting 
again ? ” 

He fetched a hollow laugh. “ Ay, down by Marsh ; but 
the fox slipped cover before we were aware.” 

She found her courage then, and answered crisply, following 
the old metaphor. At all hazards she must make them think 
that her hatred against Wayne of Marsh was equal to their 
own. The trickiest fox breaks cover once too oft ; ye’ll 
catch him yet,” she laughed — whose saddle goes empty of a 
rider ? ” 

Thy Uncle Robert’s. Get thee to bed, lass, and use thy 
woman’s trick of prayer.” 

‘‘To what end shall I use it, sir?” she asked softly. It 
was easy to play her part of Ratcliffe, now that she knew how 
things had gone at Marsh. 

“ Why, to the end of vengeance.” The Lean Man’s 
voice rang thin and high with sudden passion. “ Pray to the 
Fiend, girl, or to Our Lady, or to the first that bends an ear 
to thee — pray that the Waynes ” 

He stopped, and Janet saw him shrink as if a shrewd wind 
had nipped him unawares. And then, without a word, he led 
his horse across the yard. 

Janet still lingered at the casement, watching the moon- 
light fade away among the grey hollows of the moor. “ I 
will pray,” she murmured — “ pray that the Waynes may 
win a rightful quarrel — pray that love may one day conquer 
kinship, and ” 

“ Janet ! ” 

She looked down at Red RatcliiFe, standing close to the 
wall with face upturned to her window. “ What is’t ? ” she 
said coldly. 

“Thou know’st as well as 1. The times are perilous, and 
when a man loves he cannot wait. — Listen, Janet ! I’m sick 
with longing for thee.” 

“ The wind blows cold. Canst find no time more fitting for 
love-idleness ? ” she said, and shut the casement with a snap. 


HOW THEY FARED TO WILDWATER i6i 


Red RatclifFe halted a moment, for the night’s work, un- 
manning him, had loosed his hotter impulses. Panic had held 
him, and after that dull fear ; and now the brute in him rose 
up. 

“ Come back, thou wanton ! ” he cried, so loudly that 
Nicholas heard him from across the yard. 

Dost think I can wait all night while thou stand’st bleat- 
ing under a lass’s chamber-window ? ” roared the Lean Man. 
“ Come, fool, and help me stable this nag of mine.” 

Red RatclifFe moved away, sullenly, with a bridle in either 
hand, and found his grandfather leaning heavily against the 
door-post of the stable. 

‘‘ Thou’lt have to groom the three of them,” said Nicholas, 
in a failing voice. “ That cursed fire has — has tapped my 
strength a little.” He stood upright with a plain effort, and 
frowned on his grandson, and, Lad,” he said, what wast 
saying to Janet just now ? I gave thee free leave to win her 
if thou could’st — but, by the Living Heart, there shall none 
force her inclination.” 

Ay, shall there,” muttered the younger man, as he watched 
Nicholas turn on his heel and falter toward the house. Red 
RatclifFe shall force her inclination, when she hears how much 
he knows of her meetings with Shameless Wayne; were the 
Lean Man once to guess, he’d set finger and thumb to Janet’s 
throat, I think, and crush the life out of her, though she’s 
dear as his sword-hand to him. — Peste ! How he staggers in 
the doorway. What if he has got his death-blow down there 
at Marsh ? ’Twill be an ill hour for us when we go leader- 
less. — The devil’s in the wind to-night; it seems to whistle a 
burial-song,” he broke ofF, gloomily setting himself to rub 
down the horses. 

But the Lean Man, as if bent on refuting his grandson’s 
fears, was down betimes on the morrow. His face and hands 
were not good to see now that daylight showed each scar on 
them ; but he had regained the most part of his strength, and 
he ate like one who sees long life before him. 

‘‘ Where’s Janet ? ” he asked, when breakfast was half 
through. Oh, there thou art, child. What ails thee to 
come down so late, when thou know’st I need thee as a sauce 
to every meal ? ” 

All through the night her pity had been for those at Marsh ; 


i 62 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


but now, as her eyes met and shrank from the Lean Man’s 
scars, as she heard the tenderness of voice which none but she 
could win from him, the girl came and laid a compassionate 
hand on his shoulder. “I slept all amiss, sir,” she said, 
‘‘ through — through troubling for what chanced last night.” 

‘‘Well, sit thee down, girl, and never trouble thy head 
again about so small a matter. — Small ? Nay ! ” he cried with 
his old power of voice as he glanced round the board. “ See 
these scars, lads — don’t fear to take a straight look at them. 
We’re loosening our hold on the Wayne-hate, and these 
should stiffen you. A scar for a scar; and he that kills 
Shameless Wayne, by trickery or open fight, shall ” 

He paused, searching for some reward that should seem 
great enough and Red RatclifFe broke suddenly into the talk. 

“ Shall have Janet there in marriage,” he cried. 

Nicholas looked hard at him, and then at Janet, and pon- 
dered awhile. The girl’s face was white, but she kept her 
trouble bravely from the old man’s glance. 

“ ’Tis well for all maids to have an arm about them now,” 
said Nicholas slowly. “ And thou hast played contrips long 
enough, Janet, with these clumsy-wooing cousins of thine. — 
Well, so be it. Shameless Wayne is more than the roystering 
lad we thought him, and if any of you can show wit and 
strength enough to trap him — why, Janet will have made the 
best choice among you.” 

“ Is that a bargain, sir ? ” said Red RatclifFe, stretching his 
hand across the board. 

The Lean Man took his hand and laughed grimly. “ A 
bargain — but I doubt old Nicholas will be the first among you, 
now as aforetime. What then, Janet ? What if I win my 
own prize ? Why, lass. I’ll let none wed thee, but thou shalt 
play the daughter to me to the end.” 

All laughed at the grim banter, save Janet, sitting white and 
cold at her grandfather’s side. Once she glanced at Red Rat- 
clifFe, who strove hardily to meet her scorn ; and then some- 
thing of the Lean Man’s spirit came to her. 

“ That shall be a bargain, sir,” said she, with a low laugh. 
“If any kills Shameless Wayne, he shall wed me — but by’r 
Lady, I think the marriage will not be this year, nor next.” 

Nicholas half minded to rail at her, thought better of it. 
“’Twill be within the month, or my word goes for naught; 


HOW THEY FARED TO WILDWATER 163 

but thou dost well, girl, to mock at them. See Red RatclifFe 
glowering at thee there; yet last night he dared not look the 
Master of Marsh between the eyes.’" 

ril look any man between the eyes, — but not when a 
boggart sits upon his shoulder and strikes for him,” growled 
Red RatclifFe. 

The Lean Man shivered, as if the hall were draughtier than 
its wont, and rose abruptly. “ Come, there’s a long day’s work 
to be got through,” he said. 

All was bustle for awhile, until the men had set out on their 
usual business of farming or of bringing game home for the 
larder. The women, after they had gone, stayed to chatter of 
this and that, and then they, too, went about their work — to the 
spinning-wheel, the dairy or the kitchen. But Janet, who had 
always lived apart from the common run of life at Wildwater, 
stood idly at the wide northward window of the hall, and 
looked out on the greening waste of moor. Was not the 
feud bad enough ? ” she murmured. Was there too little 
stood between Shameless Wayne and me, but this must be 
added to the rest ? God’s pity, but they could not have 
struck at me more cruelly, and Red RatclifFe knew it when 
he made the bargain. To be wedded to him who kills Shameless 
fVayneJ^ 

She lifted her head suddenly, and it was strange to mark 
how once again the Lean Man’s hardiness showed plainly in 
her face. 

Nay, but it needs two for any bargain,” she cried, ‘‘ and 
cold steel, even in a maid’s hand, can always right a quarrel.” 

Yet she was full of dread for Shameless Wayne. What 
chance had he, with the Lean Man’s craft and all the strength 
of Wildwater against him ? He would not budge from 
Marsh, folk said, and he had but four weak lads to help him 
there. And she could do nothing. Instinctively she looked 
to the moor for help — the moor, that had been friend and 
playmate to her through her score years of life. Flat to the 
cloud-streaked sky it stretched, and the bending heather-tops 
seemed moving toward her with kindly invitation. Reaching 
down her cloak from behind the door, she hurried out and 
turned her back on Wildwater, with its surly stretch of intake, 
its blackened, frowning gables, its guardian pool. Little by 
little her step grew firmer ; the sky and the wind were close 


164 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


about her, and the fret begotten of house walls slackened with 
each mile that took her further away from men. 

At Marsh there were hills above and sloping fields below ; 
but here the dingle-furrowed flat of bog and peat and heather 
ended only with the sky — the sky, whose grey and amber 
cloudlets seemed but an added acreage to the great moor’s 
vastness. Far ofF the Craven Hills — Sharpas, and Rombald’s 
Moor, and the dark stretch of Rylstone Fell — showed flat as 
the cloudland and the heath, and the valleys in between were 
levelled by the mist that filled them up. Only the kirk-stone 
near at hand, and further the round breast of Bouldsworth 
Hill, stood naked out of the wilderness, and served, like pig- 
mies at a giant’s knee, to show the majesty against which they 
upreared their littleness. A lark soared mote-like in the mid- 
dle blue, but his song came frail and reedy through the silence ; 
the noise of many waters rose muffled from their jagged 
streamways, aping a thousand voices of the Heath-Brown 
Folk who lived beneath the marshes and the heather. The 
toil of goblin hammers, working day-long at the gold hid un- 
derground was to be heard, the tinkle of the Brown Folk’s 
laughter when they danced, the sobbing fury of their cries as 
a human foot pressed over-heavily above their peat-roofed 
dwellings. And sometimes, too, a drear baying came with 
the wind across the moor, and told that Barguest was speed- 
ing on his death-errand. 

All this the girl understood, as she did not understand the 
ways of men and their crabbed round of life. The world-old 
loneliness, the tragic stillness that was half a sob, were full of 
intimate speech for her ; when the storm-winds whistled, they 
piped a welcome measure ; there was no hour of dark or day 
out here on the heath that showed her aught but homelike 
linkliness. The little people of the moor she knew, too, as she 
knew her own face reflected in a wayside pool — the plump- 
bodied spiders, the starveling moor-tits, the haunt of snipe and 
curlew, eagle and hawk and moor-fowl. Scarce a day passed 
but she read some well-thumbed page of this Book of Life, 
till now she had learned by heart the two lessons which the wide 
hill-spaces teach their children — superstition and a rare single- 
ness of passion. The RatclifFe men-folk lusted after the feud, 
and their hate was single-minded ; Janet, with a man’s vigour in 
her blood and only a maid’s way of outlet, had never learned of 


HOW THEY FARED TO WILDWATER 165 


sun or wind or tempest, that the plain force of passion was 
created only to be checked. Shame, and halting by the way, 
were her woman’s birthright ; but these had lacked a foster- 
mother, and the resistless teaching of the solitude had made 
her love for Wayne of Marsh a swift, and terrible, and god- 
like thing. 

Yet her clear outlook upon life had been dulled of late. 
The moor had still the same unalterable counsel for her, but 
at Wildwater there had been such constant talk of feud, such 
a quiet surety on the Lean Man’s part that no RatclifFe could 
ever stoop to friendship with a Wayne, that insensibly the 
girl had faltered a little in her purpose. Had Shameless 
Wayne been of her mind, she would have cared naught for 
what her folk said ; but he, too, had been against her, and, 
while he angered and perplexed her, he forced her to believe 
that the blood spilt between the houses would leave its stain 
forever. 

But that was changed now : the bargain made by the Lean 
Man that morning had killed, once for all, the narrower love 
of kin ; the danger that was coming so near to Wayne of 
Marsh made her free to be as she would with him — for with 
it all she knew that, spite of Wayne’s would-be coldness, his 
heart was very surely hers. 

She moved to the kirk-stone, and lifted her hands against its 
weather- wrinkled face, and bared her heart to this living bulk 
of stone which had learned, century in and century out, the 
changeless fashion of men’s impulses. She had no wild pas- 
sion now for Shameless Wayne ; that was subdued by a fierce 
and over-mastering mother-love — a love that saw his danger 
and yearned to snatch him from it at any cost, a love that 
knew neither pride nor shade of doubt. 

‘‘ Thank God, I have no father to Wildwater, nor brother,” 
she murmured, ‘‘ for I would have taken against them, too, 
for his sake. — They are so sure of me, grandfather, and Red 
RatclifFe, and all of them ; I will trick them to tell me all 
their plans ; and each time they come back with empty sad- 
dles I will be glad.” Her voice deepened. Ay, I will be 
glad ! ” she cried. 

Little by little her heaviness slipped ofF from her. It had 
been hard to wait idly, expecting each hour to bring her news 
of Wayne’s discomfiture ; but now there was work for her to 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


i66 

do, and she would strive at every turn to cross her kinsfolk’s 
plans. With a lighter heart than she had known for many a 
day, she took her farewell of the kirk-stone and swung out 
across the moor until she reached the lane, soft now with bud- 
ding thorn-bushes, which led past Wynyates. 

And all the way her mind was busy with the long debt that 
Marsh House owed to Wildwater. The RatclifFes had been 
first to strike ; they had used treachery, when the Waynes 
scorned guile of any sort ; they were bringing all their heavy 
weight of odds to bear against this solitary foe who would not 
move a hair’s-breadth from their path. Well, she must use 
guile, since Wayne of Marsh would not, and she would save 
him in his own despite. 

I am no Ratcliffe,” she cried, turning into the Wildwater 
bridle track. I am a Wayne, with less wilful pride than 
they, and twice their wit to get them out of danger.” 

The stone which bounded the RatclifFe lands on the side 
toward Ling Crag stood on the right hand of her road. Her 
eyes fell on it absently, and she would have passed it by, but 
something lying on it caught her glance — something that 
showed white against the rain-soaked blackness of the stone. 
She drew near, and for a moment sickened, for the man’s 
hand that lay there was meant for hardier eyes than hers. 

Awed she was, but curious too, as she drew near to the 
stone, wondering what this token, which her grandfather had 
often told her of, was doing here on the Wildwater land. 
And then she saw that beside the hand five words were 
scrawled untidily in chalk. From Wayne to RatcliiFe — 
greeting,” ran the message. 

Janet, bewildered, read and re-read the words, and then 
their meaning flashed across her mind. Last night they had 
attacked Shameless Wayne, and he had routed them ; and af- 
terward he had cut ofF the right hand of him whose horse had 
come back riderless to Wildwater, and had answered the Lean 
Man after his own fashion. A dauntlessness there was about 
the message, a disregard of odds, that suited the girl’s temper. 

I need not fear for Wayne of Marsh,” she said, her eyes 
brightening. If he means to hunt the hunters — why. Our 
Lady fights for all such gallant fools. — Yet, shall I leave it 
there ? ” 

She eyed the token doubtfully and seemed minded to re- 


HOW THEY FARED TO WILDWATER 167 


move it, lest the Lean Man’s hate should be fanned to a hot- 
ter flame. But something checked her — a touch of Wayne’s 
own recklessness, perhaps, and her new-found faith that vic- 
tory would be with him in the long run. She turned about, 
leaving the hand there under the naked sky, and made for 
home. Almost eager she was to reach Wildwater ; she was 
returning now, not to kinsmen whose battles were her own, 
but to foes — Waynes’ foes and hers — who would tell her the 
last detail of their plots. 

A half-mile nearer Wildwater she chanced on Red RatclifFe, 
striding through the heather with a merlin hawk on his wrist, 
and a brace of hares slung by a leathern thong about his 
shoulders. 

I’ve sought thee all the morning,” he said, standing across 
her path. 

His face was lowering, and she saw that there was mischief 
in it. “ Hadst better seek hares, and conies, and the like,” she 
answered, pointing to his spoil. That swells the larder — 
but, well-away, what use is there in seeking one who’s tired 
of mocking thee ? ” 

“ Because there’s a touchstone, cousin, that turns mockery 
to something kindlier.” 

‘‘To love, thou mean’st ? ” she laughed disdainfully. “ Come 
to me in a likelier hour. Red Ratcliffe. Shall I love thee 
more because thou didst run away last night ? Shall I be 
sorry for thee, taking the poor excuse thou gavest for thy cow- 
ardice. Thou said’st amiss this morning — the boggart sits, not 
on Wayne’s shoulder, but on thine ; and his name is panic.” 

“ Art strangely free with Wayne’s name,” he sneered. “ A 
man, to look at thee, would think the past night’s work had 
pleased thee well.” 

“ It pleases me at all times to hear of one man fighting 
three, and daunting them. Wilt ever give me that sort of 
pleasure, think’st thou ? ” 

Red Ratcliffe was silent for awhile ; then, “ What dost find 
to say, Janet, when thou meet’st Shameless Wayne by 
stealth ? ” he asked, with a sudden glance at her. 

She coloured hotly, and paled again. If he knew what she 
had thought to be a secret from all at Wildwater, her chance 
of helping Wayne of Marsh was slight. 

“ It wears an ugly look,” he went on. “ Come, I am kin 


i68 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


to thee, and have a right to guard thy honour. Wilt tell me 
what has passed between this rake-the-moon and thee, or must 
I whisper in the Lean Man’s ear how his darling wantons up 
and down the country-side ? ” 

She would not stoop to plead with him, in whatever jeopardy 
she might be. Thou canst tell as much as pleases thee,” 
she flashed, “ and I will amend thy story afterward ; and if 
ever thou darest to block my way again ” 

Red RatclilFe had unhooded his hawk too soon, and he 
made a clumsy effort to atone for the false cast. Stay, girl ! 
I did not mean to say aught to anger thee. Promise to wed 
me before the corn is ripe, and I’ll keep a still tongue.” 

Promise to wed thee ? ” said Janet, turning her back on 
him. I’ve promised it already, when thou canst prove thy- 
self a better man than Shameless Wayne. But before the 
corn is ripe ? Nay, I think ’twill be later in the year.” 

He watched her move a pace or two away. ‘‘ I’ll ask thee 
once more, when we get back to Wildwater,” he said surlily ; 
‘‘ and by that time, I fancy, thou’lt have given thought to what 
the Lean Man’s anger is.” 

He was falling into step beside her, but she would none of 
him. Go over the rise yonder,” she said, and it may be 
thou wilt find something there to give thee food for thought.” 

I had liefer walk beside thee, sweet, than follow any All- 
Fool’s chase.” 

‘‘ It is no fool’s errand, I tell thee. Thou know’st the 
boundary-stone this side Ling Crag ? I passed it just now, 
and saw a present waiting for thee on the top of it.” 

He stopped, glancing first at Janet, then down the bridle- 
track. “ A present ? ” he cried. What sort of gift should 
any one leave for the first passer-by to steal ? ” 

‘‘ ’Tis a curious gift, and one not likely to be stolen,” she 
said. ‘‘ What is it ? Nay, but a gift grows less if one tells of 
it beforehand and I’ll spoil no pleasure for thee.” 

A sudden fear, the echo of his late panic, touched Red Rat- 
clifFe. ‘‘ Is — is it Wayne of Marsh who waits there with the 
present ? ” he asked, and bit his lips soon as the tell-tale 
thought was out. 

‘‘When Wayne of Marsh wants thee, he will not wait,” 
she said. “ Go, sir, and have no fear at all of him whom 
thou hast sworn to kill before the corn is ripe.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


APRIL SNOW 

After a fortnight’s softness, with mist winds and child- 
like trustfulness of breaking apple-blossom, the season had 
swung back to winter. North to Northwest the wind blew, 
and its touch was like a stab. The sun, shining day-long out 
of blue skies, seemed rather a mocking comrade of the wind, 
for his warmth in shaded corners served only to set a keener 
edge to the blast that lay in waiting at the next turn. Fields 
and roads were parched once more, and the dust lay thick as 
June. 

Even Bet Earnshaw, the idle-bones and by-word of Marsh- 
cotes village, had been moved to do a spell of work this morn- 
ing, by way of driving some sort of warmth into her veins ; 
but habit had proved too strong for her, and toward noon she 
slipped into the Sexton’s cottage next door to learn the current 
gossip from Nanny Witherlee. The wind was at its coldest 
up the narrow lane that ran between the graveyard and the 
cottages, and Bet was fain to throw her brown cotton apron 
over her head as she ran across the few yards that separated 
door from door. She found Nanny standing at the table, her 
sleeves rolled up to her elbow and a delf bowl in front of her. 

“Well, Nanny, making dumplings?” she said, lifting a 
corner of her apron and showing a true slattern’s face, big, 
red and empty of the least line of care. 

Nanny looked up, still moving her hands briskly among the 
contents of the bowl. “ Ay, we’re alius making summat, us 
mortals — awther food for our bellies or food for th’ daisies 
ower yonder. Step in. Bet, an’ for th’ Lord’s sake shut yond 
door to.” 

“ Nay, I’m noan for stopping. There’s a lot to be done i’ 
a house, but I war that perished I thowt I’d run across, like, 
an’ see if I could find onybody else as cowd as myseln ; there’s 
comfort i’ that. I’ve found. Begow, Nanny, ’tis a wonder 
we’re all alive.” 


169 


170 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


I reckon it is. That’s one o’ God’s miracles, I says, see- 
ing we’re tossed fro’ winter to summer an’ back again, all 
while th’ clock is striking twelve. They tell me there war th’ 
keenest frost last neet we’ve hed for a twelvemonth.” 

‘‘ ’Tis cruel, cruel,” said Bet, moving with her usual zigzag 
shiftlessness toward the settle and spreading her hands out to 
the fire. I war fair capped to see thy man Witherlee cross- 
ing to the kirkyard a while back. He’s too bone-thin, is 
Witherlee, to stand up agen a wind like this.” 

Ay, he’s getten a peffing cough that ye could hear fro’ 
this to Lancashire, but he willun’t be telled. He like as he 
cannot bide still onywhere out o’ touch wi’ his graves. — How’s 
yond bairn o’ thine. Bet ? ” 

“ She’s nobbut poorly. Th’ wind hes nipped her fair as if 
it hed set finger an’ thumb to her innards. Eh, but I fear for 
th’ little un, that I do ! ” 

What does th’ leech say, like ? ” 

What does leeches say ? She mud get weel again, an’ she 
mud dee. As if I couldn’t hev telled him as mich myseln. I 
alius did say there war no brass so easy addled as what them 
leeches put i’ their breeches pockets.” 

Nanny turned from her baking-bowl. Leeches is nobbut 
mortal, same as me an’ thee. How should they be ony mak 
o’ use? But there’s healing goes wi’ them as is fairy-kist, 
and axe Mistress Wayne to come an touch th’ bairn — she’ll 
do more nor all th’ leeches ’at iver swopped big words for 
brass.” 

Well, I’ve thowt on ’t mony a time sin’ yesterday ; but I 
feared she’d tak it amiss, like, if I axed her. I war aye chary 
a’ th’ gentlefolk whether they’ve getten full wits or none at all.” 

‘‘I’ve no call to speak a gooid word for Mistress Wayne, 
seeing what she did to th’ owd Maister; but I will say this. 
Bet — she’s getten no mucky pride about her now. She’s that 
friendly wi’ Witherlee they mud hev shared th’ same porridge- 
bowl sin’ being babbies, an’ I warrant she’ll heal that bairn o’ 
thine as sooin as axe her.” 

“ I’ll tak thy word for ’t, Nanny, that I will ; an’ th’ first 
chance I get. I’ll slip me dahn to Marsh.” 

“ That’s like thee ! ” cried the other sharply. “ Th’ first 
chance tha gets ! Niver thinking th’ little un may dee while 
tha’rt standing havy-cavy ’twixt will an’ willun’t. — There’s 


APRIL SNOW 


171 

somebody coming up th’ loin. Now who mud it be, I 
wonder ? ’’ 

Nanny’s table stood just underneath the window, lest she 
should miss any detail of the life that passed her door. She 
craned her neck forward as the rumble of a cart came up the 
lane, and Bet the slattern ran to peep behind her shoulder. 

Why, if there isn’t Hiram Hey ! ” cried the Sexton’s wife, 
as the cart pulled up at the door and Hiram’s knobby face, 
pinched now and tightened by the cold, peered in through the 
dusty glass. 

By th’ Heart, his face looks foul enough to break th’ 
window-panes. Eh, eh, he’s a rum un, is Hiram. They say 
i’ Marshcotes there’s nobbut one can match thee, Nanny, an’ 
that’s Hiram Hey.” 

‘‘ They’ll say owt i’ Marshcotes. What should he be stop- 
ping here for, think’st ’a. Bet ? ” 

Hiram ceased peering in at the window and opened the door 
as guardedly as if he feared an ambush. 

I’ve brought thee some peats fro’ Marsh,” he said, letting 
a stream of cold air in with him. 

‘‘Ay, an’ tha’s brought a mort o’ cold air, an’ all,” cried 
Nanny. 

“ Well, th’ peats ’ull cure that, willun’t they ? ” retorted 
Hiram. 

Nanny went to the cart and turned over the topmost sods ; 
for in Marshcotes they always looked a gift horse in the 
mouth. “ I alius did say th’ young Maister war more thowt- 
ful-like nor ony lad I’ve happened on afore. I war dahn at 
Marsh yestreen, an’ I chanced to say summat about being 
short o’ peats ” 

“ It nobbut shows his want o’ sense,” growled Hiram. 
“ We shall be short afore we’ve done wi’ this mucky weather. 
Just like th’ Maister, just ! Th’ Ratcliffes carne a two- week 
sin’, an’ wasted th’ fuel summat fearful by piling it agen th’ 
doors ; an’ so, thinks th’ Maister, when th’ shed is nigh empty 
he cannot find a better time to go scattering peats all up an’ 
dahn th’ moorside.” 

“They say it war Hiram Hey hisseln that telled Red Rat- 
clifFe where to find th’ peats,” put in the Sexton’s wife. 

“ Begow, who telled thee, Nanny ? I thowt I’d kept a 
close mouth on ’t.” 


172 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


Well, news goes wi’ th’ wind, as they say, an’ it’s all 
ower th’ parish by now how wise Hiram war fooled by a Rat- 
clifFe.” 

Hiram moved to the door. Dang it, I wish folk hed as 
mich to do as me, an’ then they’d hev no time for gossip,” he 
growled. — “Where mun I stack thy peats, Nanny ? ” 

“ r th’ cellar-hole, for sure. Where else ? — But tha’d 
mebbe like a sup o’ home-brewed, Hiram, afore tha unloads 
’em ? ” 

“ I doan’t care so mich if I do. I’m nowt at drinking my- 
seln, but there’s a time for all things, an’ ’tis a body’s plain 
duty to keep th’ cowd out on a day like this. Gi’e us hod 
o’ them tatie-sacks, Nanny ; it’ll be th’ death o’ yond owd 
boss if he’s left wi’ niver a coat to his back.” 

Hiram was never gentle save with horses j but he covered 
the thick thewed beast as carefully as if it were an ailing good- 
wife. 

“ Tha daft owd fooil ! ” he muttered with rough tenderness. 
“’Twould niver do to let thee catch Browntitus, wod it, 
now ? ” 

“ ’Tis nowt whether we catch th’ ’Titus, seemingly,” cried 
Nanny from within. “ I’ll get thee thy sup of ale this minute, 
lad, if tha’ll nobbut shut th’ door to.” 

Hiram did as he was bidden, and came and leaned over the 
lang-settle while he watched Nanny draw the ale from the 
barrel standing against the dresser. “ If this fine spring 
weather ’ull nobbut skift afore, say th’ back-end o’ July,” he 
went on, we may hev crops enough to keep us wick. But 
I doubt it — ay, I doubt it.” 

And then, having shot his bolt at the old enemy, he settled 
himself placidly enough to his mug of home-brewed. 

“Well, tha’ll be well fund i’ peats, Nanny,” said Bet the 
slattern presently. 

“ It’s varry thowtful, like, o’ th’ Maister,” repeated the 
Sexton’s wife, with another glance at the waiting cart. 

“Ay, he’s thowtful,” put in Hiram grimly. “What dost 
think he did last week ? I war so pinched wi’ th’ cowd, an’ 
th’ rheumatiz hed getten hod o’ me so, what wi’ sweating i’ 
th’ sun an’ shivering at after i’ th’ wind, ’at I left a bit o’ 
ploughing i’ one o’ th’ high-fields. But, hoity-toity, that 
wodn’t do for this keen young Maister, that didn’t knaw oats 


APRIL SNOW 


173 


fro’ wheat a six-month sin’. I war up an’ about th’ next 
day ; an’ when I gets to th’ field, thinking I’d look round a 
bit afore fetching th’ plough, what should I find but th’ Mais- 
ter hisseln ploughing ” 

‘‘ My sakes ! ” cried Nanny, lifting her floury hands. 

They mud weel say i’ Marshcotes that summat hes come to 
th’ lad. Did he drive a straight furrow, like ? ” 

Well, he did,” Hiram admitted grudgingly. ‘‘ Eh, but I 
war mad ! He nobbut looked at me once, an’ he said niver a 
word, but went up an’ dahn th’ furrows, up an’ dahn, till I 
could hev clouted him i’ th’ lugs. That’s his way lately ; he 
willun’t rate me, or say ’at he wants this doing or wants that 
— he just taks hod hisseln, an’ shames me into doing twice th’ 
wark I did for his father.” 

“ Where did he learn it all ? He studied nowt save th’ in- 
side of a pewter-pot afore th’ trouble began,” said Betsy. 

‘‘ That’s what worrits me. I mind that as a lad he war all 
about th’ fields, doing a bit here an’ a bit there for sport when 
th’ fancy took him ; but he mun be a wick un to frame as he 
does at jobs nowadays. That’s where ’tis ; I think nowt on 
him, I alius hev said, an’ he’s no business to go farming like 
an owd hand.” 

“ He’s sticking at Marsh, seemingly, spite of all I’ve dinned 
at him to go to Cranshaw, where his cousins wod be glad to 
gi’e him shelter,” said Nanny. 

Hiram chuckled. Well, if he stood up agen thy nattering, 
he mun be a staunch un. An’ I will say this for th’ lad — 
he’s showing th’ right sperrit there. There’s none at Marsh 
but wod hev thowt less on him if he’d turned tail, choose 
what’s to come.” 

‘‘ There’s none at Marsh wi’ a feather-weight o’ wit, then,” 
returned Nanny briskly. Warn’t it enough ’at they nigh 
burned th’ house dahn ” 

“ A miss is as gooid as a mile. Ye may tak my word for 
’t, we’ll see th’ Waynes come a-top when th’ moil is sattled. 
Th’ young uns, Maister GrifF an’ t’ others, is stiffening fine, 
an’ all.” 

I’ve heard as mich,” said Bet. They like as they saved 
th’ owd place t’ other neet, so I war telled.” 

‘‘ Eh, it war worth a load o’ clover to hear how yond lad 
picked up one o’ th’ gate-stuns an’ skifted th’ Lean Man wi’ ’t. 


174 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


I war i’ th’ courtyard next morn, an’ Shameless Wayne taks 
th’ ball i’ his hands an’ turns it ower ; an’ I never see’d ony 
chap look so pleased-like an’ proud as he looks at me. 
‘ Hiram,’ says he, ‘ ’tis a tidy weight to lift, this. I war- 
rant yond lad couldn’t do it again in a cool moment.’ ‘ ’Tis 
a pity he hedn’t a bit more strength,’ says I, ^ an’ then he’d hev 
bruk th’ Lean Man his backbone,’ I says. — Well, tis a two- 
week sin’ an’ better, an’ we’ve heard nowt no more fro’ Wild- 
water. They got a bellyful that neet. I’m thinking.” 

‘‘Ye can think too sooin, as th’ saying is,” put in Nanny. 
“ Th’ Lean Man is like them crawly hundred-legs ’at ye find 
i’ th’ walls — th’ more bits ye cut him into, th’ more bits there 
is to wriggle — each wi’ bits o’ legs of its own, an’ all, to carry 
it into mischief.” 

“ Ay, but they say he wears a daunted look,” put in the 
slattern, stirring the peats with her foot. “ Jonas Feather at 
th’ Bull see’d him riding through Marshcotes awhile back, an’ 
he niver stayed for a wet-your-whistle — just rode wi’ slouched 
shoulders, an’ a sort o’ looseness i’ his knees, an’ ivery now 
an’ then a speedy backard look ower his shoulders, as if ” 

Nanny turned suddenly, a queer smile pinching her thin old 
face. “ As if th’ Dog war after him,” she finished. “ I 
knew how ’twould be — ay, I knew.” 

“ Well, I niver see’d Barguest myseln, an’ I doan’t fancy 
I iver shall,” said Hiram drily. “ But there’s a change come 
to th’ Lean Man, for sure, an’ iverybody is beginning to tak 
notice o’ ’t. Sometimes he’s his old self, an’ sometimes he fair 
dithers — an’ by that token he’s i’ Marshcotes this morn, for I 
catched a sight of his back as I cam up th’ hill.” 

“ I may hev my own opinion o’ th’ Lean Man,” broke in 
Bet Earnshaw, “ but my man Earnshaw hes part work fro’ 
Wildwater this winter, an’ there’ll mebbe be another spell i’ 
store for him, now ’at there’s so mich walling to be done on 
th’ new intaken land.” 

“ Earnshaw get work ? Why, whativer would he do wi’ ’t, 
if he got it?” cried Hiram, with well-feigned amazement. 
“ He’d drop it. I’m thinking, same as if ’twere a ferret, for fear 
it ’ud bite him.” 

“Now, Hiram — ” began Bet. 

But Hiram looked at her with large and fatherly contempt 
over the edge of his pewter, and his low deep voice van- 


APRIL SNOW 


175 


quished the other’s thinner note. ‘‘ Well, th’ young Maister 
is weel out o’ what chanced to-neet at Marsh,” he went on. 

Yond bother all came of his marlaking wi’ a Ratcliffe wench, 
an’ I said to myseln afore iver th’ Ratcliffes come. ‘ There’ll 
be a judgment follow on sich light ways,’ I says.” 

A bonnie un tha art to talk,” said Nanny. What’s this 
about thee an’ Martha ? ” 

Hiram fidgetted from one foot to the other. ‘‘ What should 
there be ? ” he said. 

Nay, that’s for thee to say. It’s all ower Marshcotes ’at 
tha’rt looking after her ; an’ some says she willun’t hev thee, 
being keen set on shepherd Jose.” 

Owd fooil ! She’s niver looked twice his way — no, nor 
will do while Hiram Hey stands i’ th’ forefront of her 
een.” 

Oh, so there’s summat in ’t, then ? ” said Nanny sharply. 

Hiram, driven to bay, scratched his thinning crown and 
muttered that he was alius backard i’ coming forrard.” 

“ Begow, there’s little Mistress Wayne ! ” cried Nanny on 
the sudden as her busy eyes caught sight of a cloaked figure 
going past her window to the graveyard. ‘‘ What a day for 
th’ likes o’ her to be out o’ doors. There’s snow coming up 
wi’ th’ wind, an’ fond as she is to hev her bit of a crack wi’ 
Witherlee, she mud better hev stopped i’ th’ house to-day. 
It’ll save thee going to Marsh, howsiver. Bet ; tha can axe her 
what tha wants, an’ nowt no more about it.” 

‘‘ Tha’rt right, Nanny. I’ll watch for her coming back — 
she willun’t be long, I warrant, on sich a day as this. They 
say she spends a lot o’ time i’ th’ kirkyard, poor soul.” 

‘‘Ay, Witherlee an’ her is birds of a feather — fuller o’ 
dreams nor life, an’ i’ touch, so to say, wi’ th’ ghosties. He 
tells her tales by th’ hour together o’ what he’s seen i’ th’ kirk- 
yard ; an’ she listens like a bairn, saying a word now an’ then, 
but mostly sitting dumb-like wi’ her een fixed on his face.” 

Hiram went to the door and watched Mistress Wayne go 
through the graveyard wicket ; then shook his head soberly. 
“ A man hasdittle left to believe in when begets to my years,” 
he said, “ an’ ghosts an’ sich like is nowt i’ my way ; but ’tis 
gooid for th’ young Maister ’at yond poor soul cleaves like a 
lapdog to him — they bring luck, there’s no denying it, to them 
as they tak a fancy to.” 


iy6 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


“ They bring luck, an’ they bring healing,” said the Sex- 
ton’s wife with a glance at her neighbour. 

‘‘ Now, Nanny,” cried the farm-man, setting down his mug. 
‘‘ Dost think I’ve getten all th’ morning to waste on thee an’ 
thy peats ? There’s nowt like wenches for hindering wark ; 
an’ time’s like milk — tha cannot pick it up again when ’tis 
spilled.” 

^‘Well, tha canst win forrard,” said the Sexton’s wife. 
“ There’s nobody hindering thee, is there ? ” 

While Hiram settled to the work of unloading the peats and 
storing them in the roomy cellar that underlay Nanny’s cot- 
tage, Mistress Wayne was wandering up and down the church- 
yard in search of Sexton Witherlee. The Sexton came out 
of his tool-house presently, and his eyes were exceedingly 
friendly as they fell on the little figure moving through the 
snowflakes. 

‘‘ What, Mistress ! ” he cried. Ye’re noan flaired o’ wind 
an’ weather, seemingly.” 

‘‘ Good-morrow, Sexton. I’ve brought thee the first of the 
primroses,” said Mistress Wayne, drawing a tiny bunch of 
half-opened buds from under her cloak. 

Now, that’s varry kindly o’ ye. Mistress, varry kindly,” 
murmured Witherlee, laying the flowers in his open palm. 
‘‘ By th’ Heart, but ’tis a queer world these little chaps hes 
oppened on to ; thowt it war spring, they did, wi’ winds as 
soft as butter — an’ then, just as they’ve getten nicely un- 
wrapped, like, th’ winter is dahn on ’em again wi’ a snarl. Ay, 
ay, th’ winter is alius carred behind some corner, like a cat wi’ 
a mouse, ready to pounce on sich frail things as these.” He 
glanced from the primroses to Mistress Wayne, as if she and 
they came under the one head of frailty. 

They were better gathered, Sexton ; I found them in a 
sheltered nook of the Marsh garden — but oh, ’twas cold even 
there — they were better gathered, were they not ? ” 

“To be sure, to be sure. We’re all better gathered nor 
standing on our stems, as these quiet bodies under sod could 
tell ye if they’d getten tongues. — Theer, Mistress! Ye’re 
shaking like a reed. Come ye wi’ me under th’ Parsonage 
yonder, if ye mun bide a bit ; ’tis out o’ th’ wind.” 

“ Oh, yes, ’tis warmer here — much warmer,” she said, seat- 
ing herself on a flat tombstone that stood against the wall and 


APRIL SNOW 


177 

making a pretty motion to the Sexton that he should sit beside 
her. 

The snow fell sparsely out of the blue, and the sun was 
bright ; but overhead the peewits wheeled in narrowing cir- 
cles, and prophecy of storm was in their cries. 

^‘Tell me,’’ began Mistress Wayne, after a long silence. 

The folk sleeping here — if they had tongues, thou said’st, 
Sexton ; have they not, then ? I thought — ” she stopped, and 
lifted two puzzled eyes to his. 

The Sexton’s face grew wrapt, and his voice came dreamily. 
‘‘Ye thowt — nay, ye knew — that they could frame to talk as 
weel as me an’ ye ? An’ so they can. Mistress. Hark to th’ 
peewits up aboon us ! There’s a dead maid’s sperrit wakes i’ 
each o’ yon drear birds. White breasts they’ve getten, for 
maidenhood, an’ black cloaks i’ sign o’ sorrow niver-ending.” 

The little woman shivered and put her hand more closely 
into his. “ The dead are rested, Sexton ? Is’t not so ? ” she 
whispered. 

“ Well, men sleep sound, body an’ sperrit, i’ a general way, 
an’ so do wedded women : ’tis the lassies who died afore wed- 
lock, wanting it that cannot rest ; ay, poor bairns, they like as 
they hunger an’ thirst for what they lacked, an’ nowt ’ull do 
for ’em. See ye. Mistress ! How th’ teewits wheel an’ 
wheel, niver resting. An’ hark ye ! There’s Mary Mother’s 
own wild sorrow i’ their screams.” 

Mistress Wayne watched the birds glance white and black 
across the sun-rays. A score of them there might be, but each 
followed its own path, lonely, untiring, inconsolable. A 
strange light came into the little woman’s eyes, and after it a 
cloud of tears ; like the voice of fellow-captives, in life’s 
prison-house, the plover’s cry struck home to her, disentan- 
gling memory from phantasy. Still as the graveyard stones she 
sat, and the Sexton, stealing a glance at her, knew that this 
woman stood, like himself, on the thin edge of life, seeing 
both worlds yet finding a resting-place in neither. 

“ Will they never find peace, those white-breasted ghosts up 
yonder ? ” she whispered. “Is there no God to take pity on 
them ? Sexton is there no God in Heaven ? ” 

“I’ve heard tell on Him,” said Witherlee slowly, “but I 
niver hed speech nor sign fro’ Him. Th’ slim ghosts I knaw, 
an’ th’ solid look o’ grave-planking I knaw — but I’m dim, 


178 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


Mistress, dim, when ye axe me of owt else. Nay, I’ve heard 
th’ teewits fret iver sin’ I war out o’ th’ cradle, an’ they’re 
fretting still ; an’ when there comes a fresh Sexton to Marsh- 
cotes — I’ll be th’ first to mak him sweat at grave-digging, 
likely — why, there’ll be teewits wheeling still aboon his head.” 

Her eyes were lifted piteously to his. ’Tis that keeps 
them sleeping — to die before wedlock, and never to feel a bairn’s 
mouth soft against their own. I shall be one of them soon, 
Sexton — very soon; it was to have been my wedding-day — ” 
she passed a hand across her forehead, striving to pick up the 
thread that seemed for ever slipping from her grasp. 

Happen — happen there’s a God hid somewhere,” said 
Witherlee, in the tone of one who tells a fairy-story to a 
child. “ I reckon, if there be. He’ll look thy way. Mistress, 
afore so long. Tak heart, an’ — ” 

The clue was coming nearer to her. Nay, there’s no God 
up there, Sexton,” she broke in. ‘‘I left Him — ^years ago, 
surely — down in the sweet valley-lands. There were woods, 
and streams, and kine knee-deep among the swaying grasses ; 
and the winds were warm, Sexton, and God was very kind. 
I was happy then, I think — but some one came and took me 
away — nay, it has gone again ! ” She paused and looked 
wistfully across the hills. 

I’ve heard o’ th’ Low Country,” murmured Witherlee. 

They say there’s more warmth an’ ease dahn there, but th’ 
fowk is nobbut frail-like wi’ it all, I fancy. Ay, an’ I war 
telled, by one ’at hed been i’ them furrin parts an’ come back 
to Marshcotes, that th’ meadow-grass there, for all it grows so 
thick, is rank an’ noan so sweet as our hard-won crops up 
here. Well, well, there’s some mun live lower nor Marsh- 
cotes, just as there’s some mun carry weakly bodies their lives 
through.” 

Mistress Wayne did not hear him. Her eyes were still on 
the field climbing far-off to the sky, with their black walls and 
the white lines of snow that lay on the windward side of them. 
‘‘ It was like that, Sexton, when first I came here,” she went 
on presently, pointing with her finger. “ Naught but black 
walls, and white drifts of snow, and drear houses that seemed 
to scowl at you each time you crossed the threshold. And the 
people were all so rough and hard, and fierce — they frightened 
me — Sexton, shall I never again get down to the meadows and 


APRIL SNOW 


179 

the nightingales and the sweetbriar hedges under which the 
violets grow ? ” 

“To be sure ye will, sooin as th’ weather ’ull let ye travel,” 
said Witherlee kindly. — “ An’ now yeVe stayed still long 
enough. Mistress, an’ th’ snaw is coming dahn i’ earnest this 
time. Mebbe ye’ll step inside wi’ me till it’s owered wi’, an’ 
Nanny shall mak ye a sup o’ summat warm.” 

Hiram Hey, meanwhile, had just finished stacking Nanny’s 
peats for her, and was beginning to back his horse down the 
narrow lane, when there came such a fury of wind and snow 
together that he was fain to shelter in the doorway. 

“ Look out o’ window, Nanny,” he cried, “ for ye’ll noan 
see th’ like again for a week o’ years. Sun an’ wind — an’ th’ 
dust so thick among th’ snowflakes ’at it turns ’em grey. By 
th’ Heart, I nobbut once see’d dust an’ snaw so thick together, 
an’ that war a score year back, on th’ varry day when th’ Rat- 
cliffes first set on th’ Waynes as they war riding back fro’ 
Saxilton market. Ay, ’tis a sign as sure as I stand here wi’ 
th’ wind cutting me to th’ bone.” 

“ April snow,” muttered Bet the slattern. “ They say it 
means drear happenings.” 

“ ’Tis a fearsome sight, whativer it bodes,” said Nanny, 
peeping from under Hiram’s arm. — “ Here’s Witherlee been 
driven home by it, an’ it taks a lot to skift him, I tell ye. 
What, an’ he’s bringing th’ little fairy-kist un, an’ all ? Well, 
she’s paid a stifiish price, poor bairn, an’ it’s noan for me to 
grudge her shelter.” 

Hiram, after a curt nod to Witherlee, went to his horse’s 
head. “ There’ll be enough to fill Nanny’s kitchen without me. 
I’m thinking,” he muttered ; “ an’ I niver could bide so many 
women all dickering together — nay, begow. I’d liefer hev 
snow an’ dust an’ all th’ winds i’ th’ sky.” 

A horseman came trotting round the bend of the street, and 
shouted to Hiram to cease backing his horse and leave him 
room to pass. But the farm-man could be as deaf as a stone 
when it suited his purpose ; he had seen the rust-grey head 
and lean body of the horseman, and he kept on his way, back- 
ing the cart more slowly than was needful until he gained the 
open high-road. 

The Lean Man was holding his big bay horse on the curb 
and scarce could keep him in. “ Art deaf, fellow ? ” he 


i8o 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


snapped, swinging the butt of his riding whip toward the oth- 
er’s head. 

Hiram went quietly to the other side of his horse and looked 
across at the Lean Man of Wildwater. My hearing is noan 
what it war, Maister. War it ye shouting to me up th’ loin ? ” 
Ay, was it. Dost think Pm minded on such a day as 
this, to stand shivering at the lane-end while thou block’st the 
way ? — So, ’tis thou, is it ? ” he broke off, with a sharper glance 
at Hiram. I thought that slouch of thine was woundily 
familiar. Art minded to boast of the great store of peats ye 
have at Marsh, as thou didst not long since to my grand- 
son ? ” 

Hiram winced, for it was bitter to him still to think how 
easily Red Ratcliffe had outwitted him, and Nanny’s late ban- 
ter had rubbed an old wound raw. ‘‘We’ve fewer peats, 
Maister,” he said slowly — “ but th’ owd house stands, Pve no- 
ticed. Ay, ’tis proof agen fire an’ sword, they say.” 

Old Nicholas could make nothing of the farm-man’s stolid 
front. “ Cherish that belief, and teach it to thy Master,” he 
said. 

“Nay, he needs no teaching. He knaws, weel as I can 
tell him, that a Brown Dog ligs on th’ threshold, an’ ” 

The Lean Man loosed the curb on a sudden and rode into 
the snowstorm that blew dusty up the lane. 

“I thowt he wodn’t stay to hear no more,” said Hiram to 
his horse. “ Get on, old lad, an’ if we find Shameless Wayne 
at Marsh, we’ll tell him what we said to Nicholas Weasel- 
toppin. He’s flaired is th’ Lean Man — flaired.” 

Bet the slattern had moved to the cottage-door soon as she 
saw Mistress Wayne come through the churchyard gate with 
Witherlee. 

“ There’s summat I want to axe of ye. Mistress,” she said, 
twisting an apron-corner in her feckless hands. “ Pve getten 
a little un as is like to dee o’ th’ Brown Titus, an’ I thowt 
mebbe ye’d step in next door here an’ gi’e th’ bairn a touch o’ 
your hand — they like as they pike up, so to say, when they 
feel a softer hand on ’em nor us that wark for our bread hev 
getten.” 

The same half-troubled, half-eager look came into Mistress 
Wayne’s face as when she had lately talked with the Sexton 
of children and the childless women. Cold as she was, and 


APRIL SNOW 


i8i 


anxious for the warmth of the peat fire which showed through 
Nanny’s open door, she turned on the threshold. 

If ’twill comfort the child, I’ll come with thee and 
gladly,” she said. 

Ay, an’ ye’ll cure her. Mistress,” put in Witherlee, with 
quiet assurance. 

‘‘ Why do all the folk come running to me, Sexton, when 
their friends are sick?” asked Mistress Wayne. ^‘I am so 
weak and can do nothing for them, and yet — ” She stopped 
and clutched the old man. Look who rides toward us ! ” she 
cried, shrinking behind Bet’s bulky figure. His face is 
scarred as if hot iron had played across it, and he lacks an 
ear. I know him, Sexton ; he was cruel to me once — but 
where ? ’Tis long ago, and I forget.” 

Th’ Lean Man, begow ! ” muttered Nanny. Hiram 
said he war i’ Marshcotes, but I niver thowt he’d foul my 
door-stun wi’ his face. — Ay, he looks daunted a bit ; he’s not 
half th’ man he war a two-week sin’,” she added, eyeing the 
horseman narrowly and not guessing that Hiram Hey himself 
had added his straw to the sum of the Lean Man’s burden. 

Nicholas, seeing the women grouped round the door, drew 
rein and snapped his words out as he always did when talking 
to the country-folk — a habit that had earned him a good half 
of their ill-concealed dislike. 

• Where is thy man Earnshaw ? I want him,” he said, 
frowning down on Bet. 

“ Earnshaw, Maister ? I’m sure I cannot tell ye. He’s 
hed no wark these two weeks past, an’ happen he gets into 
loosish ways when ” 

Well, tell him from me that we’re short of hands for the 
walling beyond Wildwater, and the sooner he can come with 
a stiff back to the work, the better I shall be suited. If he 
knows of half-a-dozen other stout fellows, he can bring them 
with him.” He was turning away when his eyes fell on little 
Mistress Wayne, shrinking close behind Bet Earnshaw. “ Oh, 
is it you. Mistress ? ” he cried. ‘‘ What brings you out of 
doors on such a day ? Marry, the wind will mistake you for 
a bit of thistle-down unless you have a care.” 

‘‘ I — I am going to heal a sick child,” stammered Mistress 
Wayne. Still she could not remember when she had last seen 
this grim-faced man, nor in what way he had shown her cru- 


i 82 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


elty ; but instinctively she feared that he would do her some 
fresh hurt. 

Nicholas laughed mightily. By the Mass, so there’s heal- 
ing in your touch ? Would I had known that the other 
night, when your kin at Marsh planted these pretty love- 
tokens on my face.” He pointed to the scarce-healed scars. 

Come, now, that should bolster the Wayne pride — to have 
a wise woman in the family to set against a foolish master.” 

The Sexton’s wife dared not look at him, lest he should see 
how she itched to set her hands about his throat ; but her 
voice confessed as much. ’Tis easy to scoff, Maister, when 
ye’ve no clouds across your sun, an’ there’s a mony doubts 
nowadays. Ay, there’s them as doubts Barguest even — afore 
he’s crossed their path.” She shot a sideways glance at him, 
and saw that she had aimed true. 

He has never crossed mine, woman, so I’ll be on the 
doubting side yet awhile,” he answered, after a silence. 

Well, ye’ll know best; but ye’ve crossed Barguest, if he’s 
noan crossed ye, an’ they say it’s mich like wedlock, is cross- 
ing th’ Brown Dog — him an’ ye till death do ye part. But 
theer ! I’ve telled ye as mich afore, an’ happen I’m full o’ 
fancies, for ye say ye’ve niver seen him sin’ that neet.” 

Nicholas Ratclifc wiped the sweat from his forehead with 
the back of his sleeve, and gave one quick glance behind him. 
Whichever way he turned, it seemed he could not rid him of 
these folk who talked of Barguest. 

“ Devil take thee ! ” he cried. “ There’s no such thing — 
and if there were I’d fight him with a dozen Waynes to back 
him. Get to your healing. Mistress Wayne ; you are fit 
company for Nanny Witherlee.” 

Mistress Wayne eyed him doubtfully. No such thing as 
Barguest?” she said gravely. Sir, I have seen him — just 
before the fires were lit about the Marsh doorways, it was, 
and I was in the garden with Ned, and the Brown Dog came 
and fawned on him, — his coat was shaggy — brown against 
Ned’s clothes. And he whimpered so ; and I think it was 
because he was cold and in trouble that he lit a fire to warm 
himself.” 

The Lean Man’s anger melted ; something awesome there 
was about this woman’s quiet recountal that compelled belief. 
‘^You — ^you saw him ? ” he whispered. Then his old spirit 


APRIL SNOW 


183 

quelled the rising terror, and he gripped the saddle afresh with 
his knees. Tell him from me then, since you’re friendly to 
him,” he sneered, jerking the snaffle, ‘‘ tell him that Nicholas 
RatclifFe fears neither ghost nor man, and if Barguest cares to 
visit him at Wild water — ” The rest was drowned by the 
clatter of his horse’s feet as he galloped down the lane. 

‘^Neither ghost nor man?” echoed Nanny. Ye’re th’ 
far side o’ th’ truth, there, Maister. I niver heard that ye 
feared man born o’ woman — but ony one can see that Bar- 
guest hes getten his teeth in.” 

Sakes, ’tis fearsome talk ; I wish tha’d hod thy whisht, 
Nanny, that I do,” twittered Bet Earnshaw. 

But Nanny was no bustling housewife now, with a ready 
hand for whatever was to be done and a ready tongue to an- 
swer any speech ; she was the same dream-eyed woman who 
had rung the bell for Wayne of Marsh, who had watched 
Wayne’s body the night through and listened to the speech of 
other worlds. 

‘‘ Mistress, ye’ve getten th’ second-sight,” she said softly, 
putting an arm about Mistress Wayne. God rest ye, for 
ye’ll stand ’twixt Shameless Wayne and trouble one day. 
Mistress Nell has done it, an’ I’ve done it, an’ so will ye, 
sooin or late ; an’ yourn ’ull be th’ greatest help of all, for 
ye’ve seen th’ Dog, while we’ve nobbut heard th’ patter of his 
feet.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


HOW WAYNE AND RATCLIFFE MET AT HAZEL BRIGG 

The days had gone heavily for Janet since the Lean Man 
made his bargain with the RatclifFe men-folk. Fear for 
Shameless Wayne mingled with the dread that she would be 
forced into hasty wedlock with one of her cousins ; and each day 
that passed brought nearer home to her the grim irony which 
had set Wayne’s life as the price of her own hand. Then, 
too, she had no trust in Red RatclifFe, now that he knew her 
secret, and scarce a day passed but he pressed his suit home 
with threats of telling all to old Nicholas RatclifFe. 

Trouble, indeed, seemed closing in on Wildwater during 
those bitter days of sun and snow and northeast winds, which, 
if they had dealt hardly with the low-lying lands, had swept 
over these upland wastes with swift and pitiless ferocity. The 
Lean Man was failing, body and mind, in some strange way 
which the girl could not understand : for a day or two he 
would be hard and keen as ever, and then, suddenly as if he 
had been stricken by some unseen blade, the life would go out 
of him, and he would watch his own shadow fearfully, shun- 
ning the eyes of his kin until the fit had passed. Janet was 
fond of her grandfather, so far as she could reconcile such 
fondness with her love for Shameless Wayne, and it added the 
last touch of disquiet to see him under the spell of what she 
could not but name witchcraft. Once he had come home 
from Marshcotes — the same day it was which had brought 
him across Mistress Wayne’s path as she went to heal Bet 
Earnshaw’s child — and his eyes had met Janet’s with a dumb 
appeal for sympathy. He had all but made confession to her 
then touching this spell which lay upon him ; but the mood 
had passed, as others had passed before it, and the days wore 
on, from storm to calm, from calm to full break of spring, 
without a word from him that could give her any clue to the 
nature of his sickness. 

This morning, as they sat at breakfast, Nicholas was in gay 
184 


HOW WAYNE AND RATCLIFFE MET 185 


spirits and very full of what must be done here and done there 
about the land. Spring’s here at last, and we must make the 
most of it, lads,” he cried. “ Did Earnshaw bring any men 
with him to do the walling ? ” 

“Ay, sir, he brought six as shiftless as himself,” laughed 
Red Ratclife. 

“ Well, there’s a cure for shiftlessness, and I’ll ride that way 
this morning. — Janet, ’tis a twelve-month and a day since we 
had plovers’ eggs for breakfast, and they’ll be breeding now. 
Thou art fond of wandering abroad to no purpose ; wilt take 
as kindly to it if I bid thee carry a basket on thy arm ? ” 

“Just as kindly, grandfather,” said Janet, well pleased to 
see him in a mood so cheery ; “ and if my old cunning serves 
me. I’ll bring you home a well-filled basket.” 

“ I’ll warrant thou wilt, though it takes a nimble wit to 
match the tricksy mother-birds. — By the Heart, this spring- 
time gets even into old blood, methinks ; let’s be off, lads, for 
we’ve wasted enough of a grand morning, and there’s a deal 
to be got through before nightfall.” 

“Both here and on Wayne’s farm. Ay, ’tis a busy time 
for the moorside,” said Red Ratcliffe, glancing at Nicholas as 
they rose from table. 

The Lean Man frowned him down, but Janet had caught 
the glance, and she misliked her cousin’s tone. She wel- 
comed Red Ratcliffe, accordingly, with less than her wonted 
coldness when he followed her into the courtyard a short 
while afterward, for she was bent on learning what lay behind 
his talk of Wayne’s farm. 

“ Thou’rt quick to set off, cousin,” he said. “Tell me, do 
the plovers nest at Marsh House, that thou showest so eager 
to seek their eggs ? ” 

“I know little of Marsh House, sir, and my way lies con- 
trary across the moor.” 

“ Why, then, thou wilt be glad of a companion. Say, shall 
I come with thee, pretty Janet? ” 

“ If it pleases thee,” she answered. 

He sought for mockery in her face, but, finding a half en- 
couragement there, he fell into step beside her. Then, not 
understanding the slant ways of women, he must needs think 
that all was his for the asking, if only he put a bold front on 
it. 


i86 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


‘‘Janet/’ he said, “I knew thou’d’st weary of this feather- 
headed rogue from Marsh. Put thy hand in mine and say 
‘yea’ to a plain question, and I’ll think no more of jealousy.” 

“ Many thanks, cousin. Thou wooest, methinks, as a 
ploughboy would. Whoa^ he cries to his team, or gee-up^ and 
being used to have his horses obey him, he thinks women 
have as little wit.” 

“ He holds the whip, girl, as I do, and so is sure of them. 
Hark ye, I’m tired of this, and I will have thy answer. Flout 
me again, and I tell the Lean Man what I know.” 

Her anger, never quiet when Red RatclifFe was at her el- 
bow, broke into sudden flame. “ Tell him, and have done 
with it. I care not,” she cried, forgetting that she had meant 
to wheedle him into telling her what she wished to know. 

“ Hast never seen the Lean Man’s anger, that thou talk’st 
so glibly of it ? Pish ! Thou’rt a child. If I were so much 
as to hint that Shameless Wayne met thee by stealth, grand- 
father would — kill thee, I think.” 

“ That is true, cousin, he would go near to kill me,” she 
said, standing straight and proud with her eyes on his. “ And 
why should I fear that at his hands which I would compass 
myself rather than be wife to such as thou ? ” 

“ Who fathered thee, I wonder ? ” he sneered. “ No Rat- 
cliffe. I’ll wager, or thou would’st have died of shame long 
since to let one of the Wayne hounds foul thee with his 
touch.” 

“Wayne of Marsh, cousin, is a better fighter, and of a 
more cleanly courtesy than thou,” said she, with a hard laugh. 
“ No wonder the thought of him is bitter — the carrion crow 
likes not the eagle, does it ? ” 

He turned on her, his hand uplifted, but she eluded him. 
And then he let slip, in the heat of jealousy what prudence 
would have checked. 

“ The carrion-crow, for all that, will be bosom comrade to 
him before long,” he cried. “’Twas pleasant to see the Lean 
Man so full of cheeriness ? But what did it mean, girl ? 
Why, that he saw a way to snare thy fool of Marsh.” 

For a moment she faltered; but her pride in Wayne of 
Marsh, which was comrade always to her love for him, 
steadied her fear of coming evil. “Ye have hatched plans 
aforetime,” she answered quietly — “ at the burial in Marsh- 


HOW WAYNE AND RATCLIFFE MET 187 

cotes kirkyard, and when ye got fire to help cold steel at 
Marsh. And Red RatclifFe, if I recall, fled each time that 
Wayne showed a sword-point to him.” 

His freckled, wind-raw face was ill to look upon, and in 
among his speech the wildest curses of the hillside slipped 
and stumbled. I fled from the Brown Boggart, not from 
Wayne — but the Dog will sleep one day, and then ’twill be 
my turn, man to man. — Ay, I’ll tell thee just what is afoot, 
and thou shalt have that to give thee courage when the Lean 
Man rails at thee. Suppose Wayne has a farm called Bents 
close up to Wildwater ? Suppose old Nicholas, passing yester- 
even, saw that the storms had riven half the roof-slates off, and 
twitted the farmer with Wayne’s slovenliness ? ” 

“ ’Twould not be like grandfather to pass without such 
raillery. Ay, sir, go on.” 

Janet was watching him narrowly, letting his unclean oaths 
drift past her, and hearkening only to what lay under them. 
And he, eager to wound her at any cost, went blindly on. 

Suppose the farmer, all in the way of those who have 
dealings with the young Master just as Hiram Hey did when 
I tried the same trick on him, and telling Nicholas that Shame- 
less Wayne himself was coming up this week to see to the 
mending of the roof ? ” 

On what day does he come ? ” asked Janet softly. 

I’ll tell thee that after we’ve met him on the road — and, 
as thou’rt kindly toward him. I’ll bring thee back some pretty 
love-token. What shall it be, Janet — a drabbled lock of 
hair, or ” 

“They name thee cruel, cousin — but I think thou hast 
been very kind just now,” she interposed. 

“ God’s faith, art witless altogether ? ” he cried, dumb- 
founded by her hardiness. 

“ Nay, for I’ve learned what will serve one I love. Get 
thee back to Wildwater, cousin, with thy tale-bearing. ’Tis 
thou and I now, a man against a maid, and the thought of 
fighting thee is physic to my blood.” 

He saw now into what folly he had been betrayed. She 
would seek out Shameless Wayne, and one more attempt to 
rid them of their enemy would be defeated. 

“Thou’lt not — not dare to warn him,” he stammered. 

“ Shall I not ? Those that they hang at the gibbets. I’ve 


i88 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


heard — down in the peaceful lands where gibbets are — had as 
lief be hung for a herd of oxen as for one poor sheep. 
Grandfather can do no more than kill me — well, Til give him 
greater cause.” 

He stood irresolute while the girl moved up the path. 
Eager as he was to carry her back forthwith to Wildwater, he 
knew that any show of force would serve only to deepen the 
girl’s hate of him. 

“ She’s passing dear to the Lean Man, too,” he muttered. 

He’ll be loath to turn against her as it is — and ’twould only 
discredit the tale I have to tell him if I used force. Well, let 
her go. Haply she will not set eyes on Shameless Wayne.” 

Yet twice he started in pursuit; and when at last she had 
dipped over the nearest hill-crest, his bitterness would not be 
held in check. 

“ I offered her honest love, and she refused it,” he cried, 
kicking the peat up with his heel in senseless frenzy. God 
curse her, she shall not wed Wayne of Marsh till thistle-tops 
grow wheat.” 

But Janet, swinging free across the moor, was strangely 
light of heart. The deceit that had lain between herself and 
Nicholas was to be lifted once for all, whatever might be the 
upshot, and there was no longer any secret by force of which 
Red Ratcliffe could press his suit. Not for a moment did she 
doubt that her cousin would fulfil his threat ; the Lean Man’s 
wrath she regarded as awaiting her already at Wildwater, and 
she had learned not to underrate its fury. But by some 
means she would fight them, for her own sake and for Shame- 
less Wayne’s ; and she came of a stock to whom battle had 
ever been what the wind was to the storm-birds who hovered 
the year about the chimney-stacks of Wildwater. 

She would go straight down to Marsh, she told herself, and 
ask for its Master. The servants would wonder, doubtless, 
and the moorside gossip would be fed by the strange tale of 
how a daughter of the Ratcliffes had come to seek her people’s 
enemy ; but what did gossips matter now that she had declared 
open warfare with her folk ? There was a grim reckoning 
for her at Wildwater, and she did not shrink from it for her 
own sake ; but Shameless Wayne must be kept out of danger’s 
way, and see him she must before returning if he had to be 
sought from Marsh to Cranshaw. 


HOW WAYNE AND RATCLIFFE MET 189 


Janet laughed on the sudden, as she crossed the rough 
stretch of moor that lay this side of Withens. She was to 
see Shameless Wayne before the sun went down, and to do him 
a last service ; and the lark’s song overhead found a blithe 
answer in her heart. Then, too, the moor was in joyous 
mood, and no upland tarn ever reflected the sky’s face more 
faithfully than Janet echoed the shifting humours of this big- 
little world of hers. No year went by but she learned all 
afresh how rare and bewildering a thing was springtime on the 
moor ; so warm it was, so full of a thousand clean-cut scents, 
of wind and peat, of ling and standing waters. The bil- 
berries, with their green and crimson leaves, lay bushy to the 
sunlight, which shone reflected in tints of amethyst or ruby, 
pearl or daintiest saffron. The crowberries, which had shown 
a surly green the winter through, put on new livery, and all 
down their serried stems the brown-red blossoms peeped. A 
stray bee loitered down the wind, and cloudlets lay like snow 
above the blue edge of the heath. 

It was the time of year when Janet ceased looking across 
the endless spaces of the moor, and turned her eyes to the 
lesser miracles that showed at every step. Month after month 
the waste had shown itself a giant of awful majesty, whose 
breath was storm, whose heart was pitiless ; and now — lo, this 
moor was full of little housewife’s cares, cleaning her floors 
of last year’s litter, suckling her young like any human mother, 
neglecting no hidden corner where blade or flower was thirst- 
ing for her milk. 

Past Robin Hood’s Well the girl went, and across the beck, 
and over the moor this side of Withens ; and as she went 
she thought that surely Wayne of Marsh must lose a 
little of his sternness under such skies as these. Nay, she 
smiled as she looked toward the far-off brink of moor under 
which Marsh House lay hidden. 

“ If not for myself, he’ll love me for my news, may be,” 
she said, and smiled again as she thought of what might chance 
when she knocked at the door of the Marsh House and asked 
for Shameless Wayne. How if his sister Nell should open to 
her and ask her business ? Once already they had met, she 
and Nell, since the feud broke out ; and Nell had taunted her 
with outright bitterness ; and they had not parted till deep 
wounds had been given and received on either side. 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


190 

‘‘Were she to open to me/’ murmured Janet, “she would 
rive a spear down from the walls and thrust me out, for fear 
another than she should help Ned into safety. Well, I must 
risk that, too — but I had liefer meet the Lean Man than this 
same Mistress Nell. Love is jealous, they say — but for mad- 
ness it is naught to this quiet, sisterly affection.” 

The peewits screamed about her, and the empty basket was 
still swinging on her arm ; and now and then from very habit, 
she cast a glance about her in search of the eggs which she 
had promised to bring back to Wildwater. But Marsh was in 
her mind, and with each mile her stride grew longer, her car- 
riage firmer. She was to see Ned, and after that she would 
let come what would. Soon she came in sight of Hill House 
standing bluff on the further slope of Hazel Dene, and a song 
rose unbidden to her lips; for Hill House held kinsmen of 
her lover’s, and it was scarce more than half a league from 
Marsh. 

Janet was nearer to the truth than perchance she guessed ; 
for Nell’s love of her brother, the slow growth of years of 
thwarted hopes and bitter self-denial, was firm as the rock on 
which Marsh House was built. He had been a ruffler and a 
drunkard, so wild that his name had grown a by-word among 
folk who were not easily moved by any usual excesses of the 
gentry ; he had all but killed the last spark of love and trust 
in her; and now, just when he had cast off old ways, and had 
stood up, a man, before scorn and intimate, hourly danger and 
the slow round of farm-work which he loathed — now, it 
seemed that all was to go for naught because of his love for 
one of the accursed folk who dwelt at Wildwater. Jealous 
she would have been of any wife, but it was shame unspeak- 
able to think that Janet might ever take her place at Marsh ; 
and she was full of the matter this morning as she and Shame- 
less Wayne walked up the fields together. 

“ Ned,” she cried, breaking an uneasy silence, “ dost recall 
how once I asked thee about Mistress Ratcliffe ? Thou 
said’st then it was a folly laid aside, yet now ” 

“Well, now ? ” he said, in a hard voice. 

“ I have heard that not long since thou wast with her on the 
moor, stooping more closely to her ear than friendship alone 
warranted.” 

“ ’Twas Hiram Hey told thee as much ? He’s the wise 


HOW WAYNE AND RATCLIFFE MET 19 1 


sort of fool who must hunt out the wrong side to every trivial 
matter.” 

Nay, it is common gossip by this time. I had it from 
Nanny Witherlee, who has loved us well enough, Ned, thee 
and me, to allow of freedom in her speech. She is of my 
mind, too — that the last and worst disaster would fall on Marsh 
if ” 

“ If the clouds dropped, or the sun shone bright at mid- 
night ? ” he broke in stormily. I have told thee, Nell, that 
there is naught between us now — can be naught. Dost want 
to hear me swear it ? ” 

“ Yet thou lov’st her,” she said, with the keen glance of 
jealousy. 

Ay, as I love the good life in my veins,” he answered, his 
voice deepening. “ But what of that Even life must go, 
soon or late ; am I a woman, to think love the one thing that 
must not be crushed ? ” 

’Tis the one thing that none can lay plans against. Hark 
ye, Ned ! Mistress RatclilFe met thee by chance, I take it, 
and ye talked awhile together and then passed on. Thou wilt 
meet her again — to-morrow — and some trick of speech or eye 
will sweep thee off thy feet — and thou’lt wonder, having 
played with steel, that the sharp edge cuts thee to the bone.” 

He flushed, and would not meet her glance. If chance 
sends her across my path, I can help it as little as if a dozen 
of her kinsmen met me by the way — and, faith, the latter 
would prove more hazardous, I fancy. Shut thy mind to it 
once for all, Nell ; I love her, and she’s naught to me, and 
there we’ll leave the riddle.” 

Never until now had Nell complained, nor touched on her 
old devotion to him ; but his open confession, twice repeated, 
jarred on her beyond endurance. I’ve a right to speak, Ned,” 
she cried. I loved thee before this wanton crossed thy path ; 
I have cared for thy comfort in fifty little ways thou know’st 
naught of. When father was hard on thee for thy wild- 
ness ” 

I know, lass, I know,” he muttered, his anger chilled. 
For remorse never slept so sound with Wayne of Marsh but 
that the lightest touch could wake it. 

“ And later, when Rolf pleaded hard with me to wed him — 
he quarrelled with me but yesterday about it — I would not go, 


192 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


because thou hadst need of me at Marsh. See, Ned, I’ve 
been sorry and glad with thee — I’ve given up more, to keep thee 
out of wildness, than I shall ever tell. Is all to go for naught, 
because a woman beckons lightly to thee from across the 
moor ? ” 

I have told thee,” he said, and left her without another 
word. 

Old habit claimed her now. “ Ned ! ” she called. If thou 
must go to Hill House, promise thou’lt stray no further afield 
after thou hast done thy business there. The RatclifFes are 
itching to be at thee, and ” 

I’ll go no further,” he answered over his shoulder ; and 
as for the RatclifFes — they know how many Waynes are shel- 
tered by Hill House ; ’tis no likely hunting-ground for them.” 

His mood was bitter as he crossed the brigg below Smith- 
bank Farm and climbed the narrow stile that opened on to 
Hazel Dene. Nell had said hard things of Mistress RatclifFe, 
and not all her care for him could wipe out the memory. Was 
Janet to be named wanton, because she had been born at 
Wild water ? It was unjust. Little by little her beauty took 
shape before him, to back his pleading with weightier argu- 
ments than his own poor wit could furnish ; and all the while 
that same resistless breath of spring was blowing on him 
which up above was lightening Janet’s feet across the heath. 

There was a throstle in every thorn-bush and a merle on 
every alder, each singing hard against the other in harmony 
with the note of the south wind through the rush and the 
tinkle of water over smooth-worn stones. The corn-mill was 
busy with the hum of toil as he passed, and along the little 
strip of garden-path the miller’s wife was teaching her first- 
born child to walk. 

Wayne halted a moment and let his eyes dwell on the ten- 
der frolic of it all ; then sighed impatiently and pushed up the 
stream side till he reached the moor. To the right the bare 
fields stretched to the sky, catching a shadowed softness from 
the sunlight ; to the left. Hill House glowered down upon the 
dark cleft that nursed the waterfall. 

Ay, this picture has more truth in ’t than yonder idle- 
ness of spring below,” he muttered, watching a hawk glance 
down on molten wing and lift a screaming moor-tit in its 
beak. 


HOW WAYNE AND RATCLIFFE MET 193 


On the sudden a clear voice came over the swell of the brink- 
field up above, singing a moorland ballad of love and battle 
— a voice that had something of the throstle’s nesting-note in 
it. Shameless Wayne, shading his eyes with both hands, 
looked up the hill and saw a well-known figure standing clear 
against the sky. He started forward eagerly; but his face 
was dark again as he waited at the little brigg of stone until 
Janet reached the further margin of the stream; and she, see- 
ing him, halted at the far side of the brigg, under the rowan 
that waved its feathery shadows to and fro above the sun- 
flecked waters. But still Wayne gave no greeting, though his 
eyes were fain of her. 

I give thee good-day,” she faltered, chilled by his silence. 
‘‘ Wilt not tell me, Ned, that ’tis well-met by Hazel Brigg ? ” 

Wayne looked across at her, and his face showed harsher 
than his thoughts. Ay — wert thou a Wayne, or I a RatclifFe, 
girl,” he said. 

Janet had learned to know this mood of his; at their last 
meeting — the same which Red RatclifFe and Hiram the farm- 
man had surprised — he had met her with the same stubborn 
front. Then she had given way to her impatience ; but this 
morning she was minded to be soft toward him, knowing the 
danger he was in and eager at all costs to save him from it. 

What ails thee, Ned ? ” she asked, after they had looked 
each at the other across the stream. 

“ Why, life, I think,” he answered, with a hard laugh. “To 
take the stoniest road, and all the while to know one’s self a 
fool for ’t ” 

“ I had thought life somewhat sweeter than its wont to-day,” 
she broke in, obstinate as himself in her own fashion. “ The 
sun shines, and the larks sing ” 

“ But the feud-cries are louder still, and not if all the larks 
in heaven tried to sing them down would it be otherwise.” 
Cold his voice was, with only a deeper note in it now and then 
to show how sorely it was fretting him to stand his ground. 

“Art minded, I see, to take up the tale just where we left 
it on the moor when last we met,” cried Janet, with a flash of 
scorn. 

“ Does the tale go lighter, Janet, for what has been added to 
it since we met ? Thy folk came down to Marsh, and one 
of them did not go back again.” 


194 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


Thou didst not bid him come — nor I wish him God- 
speed on his errand,” said Janet, with a last effort to persuade 
him. 

But Wayne made no answer — only stood there with a line 
cut deep between his brows and his face moulded beyond hope 
of change, it seemed, to an obstinacy that was almost surly. 

Nay, he was heartless,” said Janet to herself. How 
often had she crossed the moor, full of the same eagerness 
that had come with her to-day ? And he had always offered 
her less than she had brought him. Of old, some late de- 
bauch had dulled his welcome ; and nowadays he met her with 
a sternness that was harder still to bear. Headstrong, with 
her strength and her need of happiness at flood, the girl could 
see but the one issue; it was Wayne and she, here on the 
quiet moor, and she would brook no interference from with- 
out. 

He’s heartless,” she repeated, and set one foot on the 
narrow bridge. 

Wayne of Marsh stood at the further end, not moving to 
make way for her. And Janet, had she glanced at him, might 
have read indecision plainly in his face. 

Let me pass,” she said, cold as himself. The brigg, I 
take it, was built for all the moorside, and even a Ratcliffe is 
free to cross by it.” 

For answer he stood more squarely across her path. I’ll 
not let thee go ! ” he cried. Then, as if asking her help 
against himself, ‘‘Janet,” he said, laying a hand on her shoul- 
der, “ I have killed three of thy folk, and the Ratcliffes in 
times past have slain more of mine than the fingers of both 
hands could count. Thou’rt free to pass, and — I was a fool 
to block thy way.” 

She looked him fairly in the face. “ If thou hadst not 
killed when it was thy right, should I have thought the better 
of thee for it ? ” she asked. 

Again Wayne did not answer. He wanted no wayward 
riddles of the sort that women give a man; temptation 
pressed more and more on him at each of these chance meet- 
ings, and it was bitter hard to fight it down. Janet, misread- 
ing his silence, moved down the path ; but Wayne did not 
follow, and soon she faltered in her walk. Angered and 
ashamed she was, but she could not forget the errand that had 


HOW WAYNE AND RATCLIFFE MET 195 


brought her here ; if she left Ned now without the warning 
she had come to give, his death would lie at her door. He 
was harsh now, and would turn a deaf ear to any warning ; 
well, she must humour him until his mood showed likelier. 

^‘Canst tell me, Ned, where best to search for plovers’ 
eggs ? ” she asked, turning about and touching the basket on 
her arm to show its purpose. They are so fond of the eggs 
at Wildwater, thou know’st, and I have been seeking all across 
Ling Crag Moor for them.” 

Wayne smiled despite himself. So like a child she was on 
the sudden, so earnest touching a light matter ; and yet awhile 
since she had tempted him with storm and subtelty and all her 
woman’s weapons. 

“ Fond of them, are they, at Wildwater ? ” he cried. My 
faith, Janet, ’tis a pretty reason to give a Wayne of Marsh. — 
Come, then, for as it chances I can help thee in thy search. 
The Hill House folk showed me their nesting place but yes- 
terday, and it lies at a stone’s-throw above us yonder.” He did 
not wait for her, but turned to climb the slope as if he guided 
her unwillingly. 

Janet followed him up the spur of moor that backed Hill 
House y and still she would not remember the Lean Man, nor 
what awaited her at Wildwater; her mind was set wholly 
upon winning Ned from this black mood of his, that he might 
hearken to her warning. The climb grew steeper, and Wayne, 
with tardy courtesy, took the girl’s hand to help her up the 
slippery clumps of bilberry. 

‘‘What brings thee so near to a Wayne homestead ?” he 
asked, pointing to the grim front of the house above. 

“Why should I fear? Our men folk fight, but none ever 
heard of one of your name waging war upon a woman.” 

“That is a true word,” muttered Wayne, and would have 
said more, but checked himself. 

“ But the RatclifFes have no such good repute ? Nay ! I 
know what was on thy tongue, Ned.” Her face grew clouded, 
and a sudden, bitter cry escaped her. “ Would God, dear lad, 
that it were different ! ” she cried. 

Wayne’s grasp tightened on her hand as he drew her half 
toward him. “ There’s a quaking bog, Janet, lies ’twixt what 
a man would and what he will,” he cried. “ God’s life, girl, 
why must we always look askance at happiness ? ” 


196 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


The words were forced from him, and under them was such 
a ring of passion as Janet had hungered for during many a long 
day of misery and dread that she had lately spent at Wild- 
water. This was a glimpse of the Ned she loved — hot, and 
eager, and rebellious. She had given all to him — shame and 
love of kin ; and she was justified, whatever followed after. 
She would force him to tell her the secret that showed plain 
enough in eyes and voice ; and then, if his sternness came 
again, she would not heed it. 

have no feud, Ned, thou and I,” she said, in the voice 
that once before the quarrel ripened, he had been free to 
hearken to. 

For a moment he wavered, looking down at her. Behind 
her a sweep of blue leaned to the shoulders of the heath. 
The throstle’s note came low and mellow from below, and in 
the sun’s eye larks were singing wildly. Slim, warm and 
sweet she stood, a RatclifFe and a maid. 

Shameless Wayne had fought this battle once before, and 
thought to have killed desire ; yet the struggle when he had 
met her by the kirk-stone, weeks ago, was but the beginning of 
an uphill road. It was as Nell had said, not an hour since, and 
this thing called love had fifty ways of ambush for a man. 

Hark ye, Janet,” he said at last. There shall no feud 
stand between us ; ’twas of their making, and I love thy little 
finger better ” 

He freed her on the sudden ; his eyes went out far across 
the moor, and into them there leaped a fierceness and a 
dread. 

Ned, what is’t ? ” she cried. 

“What is’t? I saw dead Wayne of Marsh come up the 
slope, with blood on his wearing-gear and sorrow on his 
face.” 

“ Hush, for Our Lady’s sake ! Hush ” 

“There ’twas a fancy, girl,” he said, huskily. “We’ll 
think no more on ’t. — Here is the nesting-ground ; and, see, I 
all but trode on the first pair of eggs.” 

She answered nothing but stooped for the blue-white eggs 
that lay on the bare ground at her feet. Each welcomed the 
excuse for silence, and each went gravely forward with the 
search. But neither the tragic thought of the dead master of 
Marsh, nor yet Ned’s chill withdrawal from her glance, could 


HOW WAYNE AND RATCLIFFE MET 197 


make Janet less than glad that she had come to Hazel Brigg. 
He loved her, and by and by she would carry back the 
knowledge to lighten her footsteps home to Wildwater. 

Overhead the mother-birds were wheeling — crying piteously 
each time that one or other of the searchers stopped to a fresh 
nest, yet striving all the while to lure them from this strip of 
heath that held a year’s hopes for them. Birds and beasts 
were always sure of friendliness from Janet, and something in 
the plovers’ screams touched a soft chord in her. 

‘‘They have a human sort of wit, Ned,” she murmured, 
stopping to watch them when the basket was three-quarters 
filled. “ See how they coax, and make feint, and do all to 
persuade us that their nests lie otherwhere. ’Tis pity we 
should rob them, when all is said.” 

Wayne was looking at her with his old bitter smile ; for he 
had been thinking, not of love, but of the father who called 
him from the grave to gird his loins for the fights to come. 

“ Wilt take this basket to the Lean Man, Janet, and say 
that Shameless Wayne sends greeting with it ? ” he said. 

“ ’Twould be a fairer token than thy last.” 

“ Why, what dost thou know of tokens ? They did not 
tell thee, surely ? ” 

“ I was the first to chance on it — the hand that lay on the 
boundary-stone, with thy greeting scrawled beside it.” 

He came and put his hand on hers, half tenderly. “ It was 
no sight for thee. God knows I never thought a maid’s eyes 
would light on it.” 

Janet, bewildered by the ebb and flow of feeling, could not 
withstand this touch of kindliness. She read his trouble with 
new understanding, and for the first time she realised how at 
each step she had made the struggle harder for him. Her 
pride in him took clear shape on the sudden. Nay, in this 
moment she loved the very stubbornness that held her from 
him. He had fought her as he had fought her kinsfolk, and 
he had won. One by one her doubts grew clearer ; her folk 
were Waynes, as they had not been until now; and some day 
she would prove to him that she was as little a Ratcliffe as any 
who dwelt at Cranshaw or at Marsh. All this passed through 
her mind, in hurried, half-formed fashion ; and then she needs 
must tell him of it. 

“Speech has been hindered, Ned, between us,” she said, 


198 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


‘^and we know not when another chance may come. I’ll tell 
thee now what I have wished to tell thee many a long day 
past. Thou art one, and they are many ; and it stirs my 
blood, Ned, to see the gallant fight thou’rt making.” 

Wayne tried to check her but she did not heed him. 

Once in the kirkyard and once at Marsh — and even the 
RatclifFes say thou’rt something between man and devil when 
a sword is in thy hand. Hold fast, Ned, and strike keen, and 
thou’lt have the last word yet in this ill-matched quarrel.” 

Nay, the pitcher goes once too oft to the well, Janet. 
— And as for the attack on Marsh, ’twas none of my doing that 
we beat them off. If the lads had not returned in good hour 
from the hunting, it would have been the Lean Man’s turn.” 

She was silent awhile, thinking of what Red RatclilFe had 
confessed to her this morning. The pitcher goes once too oft to 
the well — ay, there was truth in the hard old proverb. 

Ned,” she cried, looking up on the sudden, do not go to 
Bents Farm this week.” 

Not go to Bent’s ? How didst learn I meant to ride up 
there at all ? ” 

Red RatclifFe told me this morning. Ned, I’ll not let thee 
go ! They learned of thy coming from the farmer, and some 
plot is laid — I know not what — to meet thee by the way.” 

She stopped, for Wayne’s face was darker than she had ever 
seen it, and there was anger in his voice — anger against her, 
who had sought only to rescue him from treachery. Thwarted, 
driven back upon herself, she forgot that Wayne’s temper was 
sharpened to a knife-edge by his long struggle with desire. He 
stood defenceless between love and hate, and the knowledge 
of his weakness maddened him. 

What is your folk’s is yours, Janet,” he cried, and what 
is my folk’s is mine ; and the Waynes must fall lower before 
they hearken to what a RatclifFe has to tell them of her kins- 
men’s plans.” 

Her eyes were wide with amazement, and anger, and a hard 
sort of contempt. ‘‘That is the Wayne pride,” she said — 
“ what they call honour, but what their neighbours call stark 
folly. Nay ! I know what is in thy mind. Women have no 
hold on the niceties of honour, thou would’st say — but I tell 
thee, Wayne of Marsh, if thou’rt to fight this through like 
a man, not like a want-wit babe, thou’lt have to use the Lean 


HOW WAYNE AND RATCLIFFE MET 199 


Man’s weapons. What are scruples when life — life, Ned, the 

one thing that we’re sure of ” 

^^The Wayne pride maybe folly,” he broke on stormily, 
“ but it has kept Marsh House standing for three hundred 
years, and I seek no better.” 

Then thou’lt not be warned ? ” 

“ I shall ride to Bents Farm on Thursday, as I had in mind 
to.” 

And wilt thou take none with thee ? ” 

‘‘ I meant to take none, and I’ll not shift from my path by 
a hair’s-breadth.” 

Fool, fool ! ” she cried, casting about for some fresh turn 
of pleading that might weigh with him. “ It is told now — I 
cannot recall my warning, Ned ; at least make such use thou 
canst of it.” 

‘‘ Hast lived so long with the storms, Janet,” said he, smil- 
ing gravely, ‘‘ that thou hast learnt naught of Fate ? What 
will be, will be, girl, and if I’m to die by a RatclifFe blade in 
three days’ time — why, ’tis settled; if not, thy warning still 
goes for naught.” 

Stung by his disdain, she ceased pleading, and allowed her 
own right pride to have its say. So be it; but I would have 
thee know this before I leave thee. There’s somewhat hangs 
on the taking of thy life — somewhat that touches my welfare 
nearly.” 

What is’t ? ” he asked, eyeing her curiously. 

’Twould not advantage thee to know. — And so farewell, 
Ned, and God give thee a better wit.” 

Shameless Wayne had no struggle now with his love for 
this slim, passionate girl ; with the first hint of battle his mind 
had swung back to what had been all in all to him since he 
swore above his father’s body never to rest until the RatclifFes 
had paid their price. She was a RatclifFe, and she had dared 
to bid him slink out of touch of danger ; and the good-bye 
that had seemed agony not long ago, was easy now, as he 
watched her go up the brink-field without a thought to call 
her back for one last hopeless word — the word for lack of 
which her step went heavy up the slope. 

I can do naught for him,” she murmured, not turning as 
she topped the rise. Is there one other as fond as he in the 
whole world, to see a plain pitfall and ride hot-foot over it ? ” 


200 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


She cared not a whit for what the Lean Man might have in 
store for her. She would make a straight confession to him 
and thereafter face him without dread — nay, with a sort of 
gladness, since his first hot impulse might earn her a release 
from that terrible bargain which had pledged her to the slayer 
of Wayne of Marsh. Then she fell into a storm of anger 
against Wayne, that his stubbornness had forbidden him to save 
himself and her ; and after that a sense of utter loneliness 
came over her, and she lay down in the heather and sobbed 
without restraint. 

But neither tears nor anger stayed with her for long, and 
her courage came slowly back after she had picked up her bas- 
ket again and turned her face to Wildwater. Wayne of 
Marsh showed helpless as a child, and the old instinct to pro- 
tect him gained on her. His strength of arm was nothing 
unless he had some friend to match the guile against which 
his uprightness was powerless. What could she do ? 

Her thoughts ran quickly now. She was full of feints as 
the peewits that had lately tried to decoy her from their nests. 
For her own sake she would have been glad to let the Lean 
Man know all; but there was Ned to think of, and by some 
means she must hide the truth. Her eyes brightened on the 
sudden, and she moved with a brisker step. 

I told Red RatclifFe I Would fight him,’’ she cried eagerly, 
“ and may be I shall worst him yet. — But to lie ? — Ned, Ned, 
I’m glad thou dost not guess how deep my love for thee has 
gone. To lie ? Well, ’twill be nearly truth if told for his 
sake. He goes on Thursday, does he, to Bents Farm ? 
Well, there’s three days ’twixt now and then.” 


CHAPTER XV 


MOTHER-WIT 

The Lean Man and Red RatclifFe were standing in the 
courtyard at Wildwater, and Nicholas was regarding his grand- 
son with cold displeasure. 

“ Thy tale hangs ill together, lad,’’ he said, and I’ll not 
believe a word of it till Janet has told me her side of the mat- 
ter. What, one of our breed go meeting one of thetn by 

stealth ? By the Heart, if thou hast let jealousy ” 

But, sir, I saw them ; they were as close as I am to you, 
and his words were honeyed if his low voice and earnest look 
were aught to go by.” 

“ Well, there’s no more to be said. ’Tis beyond belief, 
and I had rather saddle thee with a lie than Janet with such 
wantonness. — Peste ! Where is the girl ? She should be 
back by now, unless her search has taken her further afield 
than a handful of plovers’ eggs is worth.” 

“ Haply she is with Wayne of Marsh, sir,” said the other 
softly. 

The Lean Man pointed through the open gate. Is she, 
then ? ” he snarled. “ The next time thou dost hazard a 
guess of that sort, be sure the maid is not in sight already. 
Now, lad. I’ll front thee with her straight, and we’ll plumb 
the bottom of this matter.” 

Janet saw them while she was two-score yards away, and 
her heart sank for the moment. Her plan seemed harder of 
fulfilment now that she was all but face to face with the Lean 
Man. But she carried herself bravely, and crossed the open 
with a firm step, and held her basket out to Nicholas with a 
curtsey. 

‘‘ Here are the eggs, sir. Have I not done well ? ” she 
said. 

‘‘ Put them down, girl,” said Nicholas, and paused, afraid 
to ask the question which might kill his love for her. 

Janet was quick to take advantage of his hesitation. I’ve 
201 


202 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


done more than rob the peewits this morning, grandfather,” 
she went on, with a glance at Red Ratcliffe. ‘‘ Whom did I 
meet, think ye, above the Hill House waterfall ? ” 

A foreboding seized the younger man ; for her glance said 
plainly that she had no fear of what he might have told his 
grandfather. 

Whom, lass ? Come, tell me quick,” said Nicholas. 

‘‘ Why, Shameless Wayne — and learned somewhat from 
him which he little thought might prove of service to you.” 

“ Shameless Wayne ? What led thee to Shameless Wayne ? ” 
cried Nicholas. 

Nay, what led him to talk to me ? ’Tis not the first time, 
either. Not long ago, as I was crossing the fields this side of 
Marshcotes, he stopped me by the way, and made much of 
some little acquaintance which once there was between us.” 

Nicholas shot a glance of triumph at Red Ratcliffe, and one 
of doubt at Janet. ‘‘Thou should’st have passed him by,” he 
said. 

“ What can a maid do, grandfather, when the man is head- 
strong and she is out of call of help ? He ” — she lifted her 
brows disdainfully, — “ he dared to make hot love to me that 
day ; and again this morning as I was gathering eggs, he ” 

The Lean Man fetched an oath. “ So the lad is not con- 
tent, ’twould seem,” he muttered ; “ it is not enough to kill 
three of us and to flaunt my son’s hand in the public view, 
but he must — see, child, he means thee no good by this, and I 
was right when I bade thee keep to home awhile.” 

“ But, a murrain on ’t, the girl was willing ! ” cried Red 
Ratcliffe, aghast to find the Lean Man’s anger diverted so 
swiftly from Janet to Wayne of Marsh. “ What didst say 
to me this morning, Janet, when I met thee on the moor? ” 

“ What I say to thee now, cousin — that thou’rt the mean- 
est of all my kin, and the one least likely to catch any wom- 
an’s fancy — that thou may’st threaten, and bully, and play 
the tale-bearer, and yet not win me in the end.” 

“ ’Tis plain to see I bred thee, lass,” laughed Nicholas, 
putting a kindly hand on her shoulder. — “ As for thee. Red 
Ratcliffe, I gave thee free leave to say thy say to Janet, but 
not to force her will.” 

“ Then, sir, you would liefer see her wedded to Wayne of 
Marsh than to me ? ” broke in the other hotly. “ They call 


MOTHER-WIT 


203 


him Shameless, but by the Mass this girl would hold the title 
with better credit. See how she stands there, with an open 
front and a clear eye, and all the while she knows ” 

‘‘Sir, my cousin has gone through it all before,” said Janet, 
deftly taking up the talk as Red RatclifFe paused for very 
anger. “ I said nay to him this morning ; and he turned and 
snarled on me, vowing he would tell you how I met Shameless 
Wayne willingly by stealth. Has he done so, or was he still 
finding wit enough to carry the tale through when I came up ? ” 

“ I said the tale went lame,” muttered Nicholas ; “ ay, I 
knew there could be naught in ’t.” 

“ Did he tell you, sir,” went on Janet merrily, “did he tell 
you that Wayne of Marsh was whispering love-tales in my 
ear, and that I was listening with greedy relish? He threat- 
ened so to do; because, forsooth, he had asked me a plain 
question, and my answer liked him little.” 

Red Ratcliffe had made many a useless effort to claim a 
hearing, but he could see by the Lean Man’s face that the 
tide was running all against him. 

“ He thought I should be feared of you, grandfather ! ” 
cried Janet, laughing softly. “ He thought I should not dare 
to come with a straight tale to you as he came with a crooked.” 

Nicholas, eager beforehand to keep his trust in the girl un- 
shaken, let his last doubts fall off from him. “ Thou wast 
right, child, to trust me,” he said. “ This fool here got his 
word in first, and if thou hadst not told me of thy meeting 
with Wayne before ever I twitted thee with it — why, I might 
well have believed that which would have gone nigh to break 
my heart.” 

For a moment the girl’s eyes clouded and she could not 
look him in the face. He was so kind to her, so ready to 
take her part at all times ; and she was rewarding his trust in 
sorry fashion. But that passed as she remembered the Lean 
Man’s cruelty, his guile, his resolve to do Shameless Wayne 
to death by any sort of treachery. Was it a time to stand on 
scruples, when she was fighting, not for her own life, but for 
another’s? Again her mother-love for Wayne swept over 
her, touching her fancy with a sense of fine issues that were 
to be compassed, here and now, by her own unaided wit. 

“ I said, sir, that I was powerless to keep Wayne of Marsh 
from walking with me,” she went on, her voice gaining depth 


204 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


and subtlety as she made forward with the tale that had been 
shaping itself in her mind all through the long walk home from 
Hill House ; but I could at the least make him pay for his 
ill manners in curious coin. He to dare offer marriage to a 
Ratcliffe ! My cheeks were red with shame, as if another 
man had offered less than marriage ; but I would not let him 
see it. I lured him on, I played with him, I learned all that 
he had done, or was doing, or was about to do.’’ 

God rest thee, lass ! ” cried the Lean Man, with a boister- 
ous laugh. Who says thou’rt more or less than a very Rat- 
cliffe ? Thou didst lead the poor fool on, then, with a trail of 
honey ? By the Dog, I never loved thee half as well as now. 
— What, Ratcliffe the Red, thou lookest moody ! The old 
man was not fond enough to stomach any wild tale thou didst 
bring to him ? — Well, girl, what didst learn from Wayne ? ” 

‘‘That he was going to Bents Farm, to see that some re- 
pairs were rightly done.” 

“Ay, it tallies,” murmured Nicholas. — “Go on, Janet; 
we knew as much as that.” 

“But did you know, sir, that Wayne had somehow learned 
your purpose ? He was to have gone on Thursday ” 

“ Did he tell thee that, or was it I ? ” broke in Red Rat- 
cliffe. “ Hark ye, grandfather ! I let slip to her this morn- 
ing the tale of what we meant to do, and she uses it now for 
her own ends.” 

“ Peace, sirrah ! I have a long account to square with thee, 
and a quiet tongue may keep thee from adding to the reckon- 
ing. Didst let the tale slip ? The more fool thou, when I 
had bidden thee speak of it to no man. Haply ’twas from 
thee that Wayne of Marsh learned what we have in mind ? ” 

“It matters little, as it chances, whether Wayne knows or 
not,” said Janet. “ He will go on Friday, sir, at noon, in- 
stead of on Thursday; for he told me as much, laughing to 
think how easily he could outwit you.” 

“ Haply the last laugh will be mine,” said Nicholas grimly. 
“ Didst learn how many of his folk he meant to bring with 
him ? Being warned, he will not go alone, I warrant.” 

“Nay, he professed to be a match for any four of you,” 
answered the girl, a spice of the Ratcliffe devilry leading her 
to garnish her story with needless detail, “ but for prudence? 
sake, he said, he would take some two or three with him/’ 


MOTHER-WIT 


205 


“ A match for any four ? ” muttered the Lean Man. ‘‘ I’ll 
keep that word in mind when Wayne fares up to Bents. Ay, 
by the Rood I will let none but myself cross swords with 
him. Three of my folk I’ll take, to equal his, and none shall 
say that Wayne of Marsh fought against odds when he was 
slain on the road to Bents Farm.” 

Janet shuddered to hear her grandfather talk of Wayne’s 
death, as of a fact already well accomplished ; glancing at the 
Lean Man’s height and wiry frame, remembering the skill he 
had in wielding that dread two-handled sword of his, she felt 
that Wayne of Marsh, for all his lusty youth, would find a 
match in Nicholas RatclifFe. And then she laughed her fears 
away ; for was she not sending the slayers on the veriest Jack- 
o’-lanthorn errand that ever led men into the bogs ? 

^‘Take the men with you, sir, for Wayne can be tricky as 
yourself,” she said gravely. By Our Lady, I think he’ll not 
fare back again from Bents to Marsh.” 

Hast a shrewd head on thy pretty shoulders. Gad, yes, 
thou’rt crafty ! Who is’t thou callest to mind, girl ? Some 
one out of the musty Book that Parson reads from on the Sab- 
bath. Delilah, was it not, who fooled the long-haired fighter 
and clipped his locks for him as if he were a sheep at shearing- 
time ? ” 

And he could not fight at all, sir, after the shearing was 
done. ’Tis a good fable,” laughed Janet. 

‘‘ Ay, but how if she is clipping a Ratcliffe poll the while, 
and fools us into thinking that Wayne’s locks, not ours^ are 
underneath the shears ? ” snapped Red Ratcliffe. 

The Lean Man, good-humoured almost now that his 
quarry was well in view, turned and looked his grandson up 
and down. It would take a clever lass, methinks, to clip 
that rusty head of thine ; as well reap a stubble-field for corn,” 
he sneered. — There ! The work speeds merrily, and a little 
jest suffices for a big laugh. Janet, come draw me a measure 
of wine, and we’ll pledge thy mother-wit.” 

He moved across the courtyard, and Red Ratcliffe, stepping 
to Janet’s side, laid a hand on her cloak. I asked this morn 
who fathered thee,” he whispered. “ Well, now I know. 
The devil got thee, and thou’lt not shame him. The game 
is thine so far — but by the Lord I’ll make thee smart when 
fortune shifts her favours,” 


2o6 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


What, dost not believe my story ? ” she answered, with 
demure wonder. Well, go on Thursday, then, if thou 
doubtest ” 

^^Nay. He will not go to Bents Farm on Thursday, for 
thou hast warned him ; nor will he go on Friday, since thou 
tellest us so glibly the place and hour. But we’ll wait each 
day for him until he comes.” 

^^The Lean Man will not wait with you, save on the 
Friday.” 

An ugly sc|owl crossed the other’s face. The Lean Man 
ages fast ; we must learn to strike while he is hanging on 
every lying word of thine,” he said, and left her. 

Janet halted on the threshold before following Nicholas in- 
doors. 

Ay, even such as he can call me liar,” she muttered, 
looking out across the heath as if for guidance. Sorrow of 
women, why must we always stoop to feints and trickeries ? 
Why cannot we fight as men fight ” 

The peewits were wheeling over the sky-rimmed moor, and 
Janet, watching them, bethought her once again how they 
had used the self-same trickery to save their unhatched young. 
Instinctively she felt their world was hers, their teaching hers, 
and what was right for the wild things of the heath was right 
for her. 

^‘And I have saved Wayne of Marsh. God be thanked 
for it,” she cried with sudden fervour, and went to bring the 
Lean Man the cup which was to pledge her mother-wit. 


CHAPTER XVI 


HOW WAYNE OF MARSH RODE UP TO BENTS 

The sun was nearing the top of his climb, and his rays 
were kindly with Mistress Wayne as she sat by the waterside 
in Hazel Dene and filled her lap with flowers and green lush 
grasses. Here a clump of primroses nestled close to the 
water’s edge, and there a hazel-bush waved its catkins finger- 
like over the peat-brown water, dusting the wavelets with fin- 
est saffron pollen. Above, in the sloping fields, lambs bleated 
after the wethers, and kine chewed lazily the cud of sweet new 
grass. All was tender frolic, as if a month ago no snow had 
filled the hollows of the trees where now were nests, as if no 
bitter wind had whistled downward from the moor, chilling 
the bud within its sheath and the sap in well-turned limbs of 
ash and oak. 

Mistress Wayne ceased playing with her flowers, and fell 
to dreaming. She was the one still thing among all the quiv- 
ering eagerness of leaves and water, birds and hovering flies 
and glancing fish. For the storms that had chilled and fright- 
ened her were over, and with the spring her mind seemed to 
be loosing, one by one, its winter bonds. Old memories 
stirred in her and clamoured for release ; new desires awak- 
ened, and with them a fresh load of doubts and fears ; she sat, 
helpless and inert, and strove with all her might to unravel 
the threads which one night’s tragedy had tangled. 

Ah, it is sweet — sweet,” she murmured. I was a child 
once — a child — and they gave me love — both hands they gave 
me full of love — and it was always spring, I think, with 
warmth like this and song of birds. But I’m old now ; older 
than anybody knows, and sad. I think it is because I did 
some one a great wrong. What was it ? Down in the mead- 
ows, when he came and tried to kill me with his hard grey 
eyes — the eyes that stared at me afterward from the bier. 
Nay, he could not forgive me, even in death — I think he 
knew that I had never loved him.” 

207 


208 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


For a moment longer she struggled with memory ; then her 
face grew empty as of old, and she picked up her flowers and 
fell to talking babe-talk to them. But her witless moods held 
lighter sway nowadays ; reason was coming slowly back, and 
day by day her mind returned more often from childishness 
into the piteous strife of sanity. She got to her feet soon, and 
threw the flowers from her, and looked with troubled eyes to- 
ward Marsh cotes. 

I might go and find Sexton Witherlee,” she said, halting 
with one finger on her lip ; he is so wise, and he may tell 
me what I want to learn. Yes, I must find the Sexton.” 

A crackling of twigs came from up the Dene, and turning 
afFrightedly she saw Shameless Wayne striding along the nar- 
row path. 

Why, little bairn, what art doing here ? ” he cried, as she 
ran to him with hands outstretched in welcome. 

“ Thinking, Ned — always thinking. I want to remember 
— oh, I want to remember — but the thoughts will never stay 
still enough for me to put my hand on them. I have been 
trying to catch the little fish in the stream yonder, and it was 
just the same ; they stayed till I had all but caught them, and 
then they glanced and flickered, flickered and glanced, until I 
could not see them for the splashes which they made.” 

Bide awhile, bairn,” he said kindly ; thy thoughts will 
come tame to hand one day, never fear.” 

“ Art going home, Ned ? ” she said, after a silence. I 
was crossing to Marshcotes kirkyard, but if thou’lt come into 
the fields with me, and talk, Fll ask naught better.” 

Pm going to Marsh, but only to get to saddle and be off 
again. Better talk to the Sexton this morning, and Pll walk 
with thee after dinner. — Nay ! Never look so downcast. 
’Tis only that there’s work to be done up at Bents Farm, 
and I shall scarce get there and back as ’tis by dinner-time.” 

Again the puzzled look, which told that she was doubtful 
lest this returning memory of hers were leading her astray. 

I thought, Ned — I thought thou hadst gone there yesterday ? 
Well-away, the days slip past, and sometimes I forget to 
count them ; was it not Thursday yesterday — and Friday to- 
day — and what comes after ? ” Her eyes filled with tears. 

It is so hard, dear, to forget and to know that all the world 
is pitying me.” 


WAYNE OF MARSH RODE UP TO BENTS 209 


‘‘ Tush, bairn ! Thou canst remember nigh as well as any 
of us now. And thou’rt right about Bents Farm ; I should 
have gone there yestermorn, but was prevented. There ! 
Find out yond friendly Sexton of thine, and show him how 
this fair spring weather is warming thee back to memory.” 

Thou’lt not forget to walk with me after dinner ? ” she 

said. 

‘‘ Not I. — The stream’s over-wide for thee, is’t ? Well, 
that is soon reckoned with.” 

Laughing, he picked her up and leaped across the babbling 
water ; then set her down, and turned to wave farewell as he 
swung round the corner of the path. 

Half her wits have come home from wandering. What 
when they return altogether ? ” he muttered. Nay, she had 
better be as the bairns are. Our wits do naught for us save 
teach us that life rings cracked and hollow as a broken bell. 
— I could swear the sun moves at racing-speed,” he broke off, 
glancing toward the south. ‘^’Twas well I told them to set 
dinner back a full two hours.” 

The Lean Man, standing in the Wildwater courtyard, was 
likewise looking toward the south, as he rated three of his 
kinsfolk into the saddle. 

^‘Ye lie-abed, hounds!” he roared. ‘‘Does Wayne of 
Marsh come riding to meet us every day, that ye mean to let 
noon go by ? Up with the stirrup-cup, Janet, and I’ll drain 
it once again to an errand that is all of thy making.” 

“ ’Tis scarce past the time for wild geese, sir,” put in Red 
RatclifFe drily, “ and Janet knew it, methinks, when she sent 
us on this chase.” 

“ Marry, why should’st doubt Wayne’s coming ? ” snapped 
Nicholas. “ But thou wast so from thy birth, lad, so I’ll not 
rate thee for thy clownishness.” 

“ I doubt for reasons that I’ll tell you afterward,” said the 
other, nettled by his comrades’ laughter. 

“What, when I return with Wayne’s head at my saddle- 
flap ? ” 

“ If mares build nests, and lay gold eggs in them, we shall 
bring back Wayne’s head to-day,” growled Red RatclifFe, and 
pricked his horse forward out of reach of further gibes. 

“The young cockerels crow v/hile the old birds fill their 
crops,” laughed Nicholas. “ Forward, lads, and mind well 


210 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


that none is to lay hand on Shameless Wayne till I have done 
v^ith him.” 

Janet watched them move up into the moor, their figures, 
riding one behind the other, dark against the white, wind-hur- 
ried clouds. 

A fair journey, sirs ! ” she cried, soon as they were out of 
eyeshot. A fair journey, and fair tempers when ye come 
back from slaying Wayne of Marsh.” 

Dangers were waiting in plenty for Ned, she knew ; but it 
was enough that he was safe from the peril of the moment, 
and her heart sang blithely as she told herself that, but for her 
aid, the Lean Man would have gone to meet him yesterday — 
and would have found him. What she should say when they 
returned from their bootless errand, she knew not, nor whether 
her grandfather would suspect the truth of all the tale she had 
told him when he found one flaw in it. It did not matter; 
some way she would coax him back to good humour, as she 
had done four days ago. 

Restless in her gaiety, which had a certain fierceness in it, 
she wandered up and down the house, and out into the gar- 
den, and thence to the stables in search of her favourite roan 
mare. The roan had been ailing lately, and this morning she 
turned a sadly lack-lustre eye on Janet in answer to the girl’s 
caresses. 

’Tis time a leech looked to thee,” said Janet, stroking the 
beast’s muzzle. ‘‘Yet it is thankless of thee, when all is said, 
after the pains I’ve taken. I all but lost the fingers of one 
hand awhile since in giving thee a ball, and thou’rt not a whit 
the better for it. Well, we must see if Earnshaw, yond idle 
rogue from Marshcotes, can do thee any good ; he’s cunning 
at horse-physic, so they say.” 

Glad of the excuse for a scamper, but finding none of the 
farm-hands about the yard, she saddled the mare that stood in 
the next stall, led her to the horsing-steps that stood this side 
the gateway, and soon was galloping over the heather as if the 
chestnut had no knees to be broken, nor she a neck to lose. 
And half the way her thoughts were of the RatclifFes, riding 
to meet a foe who would not come ; and half the way she 
thought of Wayne’s splendid doggedness, when she had met 
him at Hazel Brigg, and he had turned a deaf ear to her 
warning. 


WAYNE OF MARSH RODE UP TO BENTS 21 1 


Mistress Wayne, meanwhile, had found the Sexton at work 
on a new grave and had enticed him to the flat stone which 
had grown to be their seat on all occasions when they fore- 
gathered for a chat. Thinner than ever was the Sexton, as if 
the past winter had dried the little flesh that had once made 
shift to clothe his bones ; his eyes were dreamier, but the old 
kindliness was in them as they rested on this frail comrade 
who listened with such goodwill to all his thrice-told tales of 
fight and fairies, of Barguest and the Brown Folk. 

Ay, they live under th* kirkyard, do th’ Brown Folk, as 
weel as farther out across th’ moor,” Witherlee was saying. 
‘‘ They’re deepish down, but time an’ time, when I’m nearing 
th’ bottom of a grave, I can hear ’em curse an’ cry at me, for 
they like as they cannot bide mortal men to come anigh ’em.” 

Art thou never afraid of them, Sexton ? ” asked Mistress 
Wayne, her wide, questioning eyes on his. 

“ Nay, I niver get ony harm, as I knaw on, fro’ th’ little 
chaps, — though I do shiver whiles, for their curses is summat 
flairsome to hearken to. Howsiver, curses break no bones, as 
th’ saying is, so I just let ’em clicker, an’ I win forrard wi’ my 
digging.” 

The little woman shivered. ‘‘ They are cruel, these Brown 
Folk. They snatch children from the cradle, and carry them 
down and down, deep under the peat, to work the gold for 
them. I like the slim ghosties better. Sexton, talk to me of 
them, — the ghosts of those who lie asleep here ; thou hast seen 
such often ? ” 

Ay,” said the Sexton softly. “ I’ve learned th’ feel an’ 
th’ speech an’ th’ throb o’ th’ kirkyard. Mistress, till I’m 
friends wi’ ivery sleeper of ’em all. Lord Christ, how sweet 
it is to sit here on a summer’s eve, wi’ th’ moon new-risen 
ower kirk an’ graves — to feel this feckless body o’ mine crum- 
ple an’ shrink, while th’ inward fire grows fierce, and bright, 
and steady. ’Tis then th’ ghosties come and slip their thin 
hands into mine ; for th’ naked souls o’ men are friendly, and 
’tis only our lumpish shroud of clay that frights th’ sperrits 
from us. Ay, there’s scant room. I’m thinking, for us poor 
mortals, what wi’ Brown Folk below, an’ White Folk up 
aboon.” 

Once thou said’st ’twas only the unwed lassies walked. 
Is it so, Sexton ? ” 


212 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


Nay, there’s men-folk, too. I say to myseln, small won- 
der that th’ ghosties stir up and down, time an’ time, when 
them as lig under sod fall to thinking o’ th’ unquiet things that 
hev happened just aboon their heads. Look ye, Mistress, 
how black yond kirk-tower looks at us; ’twas there a Wayne 
fought, in an older day, agen Anthony Ratcliffe wi’ five other 
Ratcliffes to back him — fought wi’ his back to th’ tower-wall, 
and killed four out o’ th’ six that made agen him, an’ sore 
wounded Anthony an’ another. Ay, an’ ye mind how Shame- 
less Wayne took toll awhile back i’ this same spot? An’ 
how Dick Ratcliffe paid his reckoning on th’ vault-stone yon- 
der ? ” 

Mistress Wayne shrank from the Sexton as if he had struck 
her. Dick Ratcliffe — Dick — what should I know of him ? ” 
she murmured. Again the still intensity of face, as she sought 
the key to that dim past of hers. 

But the Sexton was deep in his own reverie ; he was think- 
ing, not of the woman to whom Dick RatclilFe had given an 
unclean love, but of the new feud that had come to gladden 
these latter days. 

Is not th’ place like to be restless, wi’ sich as these lying 
bedfellows ? ” he went on, nodding his head in greeting at the 
lettered stones. “ Ay, restless as I am restless, heving fol- 
lowed my trade, through sun an’ gloaming an’ mid-winter 
midnight, amang th’ wild folk that niver found peace till they 
came on their last journey to Marshcotes kirkyard. — Theer, 
theer. Mistress ! ” he broke off*, as the little woman’s cry broke 
sharply into his musings and half awoke him. I flair ye, 
but ye need think nowt on ’t ; an owd chap mun hev his spell 
o’ dithering in an’ out amang th’ fierce owd tales that tangle 
and trip up th’ one t’ other. Yet I praise God that, after all 
these weak new days, young Wayne o’ Marsh hes shown th’ 
owd stuff a-working.” 

Sexton, Sexton ! ” The woman’s eyes, fixed on the vault- 
stone below, were sane now, and her voice not like at all to 
the childish pipe which Witherlee had grown to love. “ I 
have tried so hard to understand — and now I know — and 
would God I could forget again.” 

Witherlee made as if to put an arm about her, so wishful 
of comfort she seemed ; but he withdrew, feeling that her 
grief was over-terrible for such rough consolation as he had to 


WAYNE OF MARSH RODE UP TO BENTS 213 

offer. Instead, he filled his pipe and lit it, and waited till she 
found more to tell him. 

They rested so for a long while, with only the song of birds 
and the moan of a rainy breeze to break the silence. Then, 

I see it all, Sexton,’’ she said quietly — the evening when 
Wayne of Marsh, my husband, found me with my lover in 
the orchard — Wayne’s death — the flight with Dick RatclifFe 
of Wild water. We gained the wicket up above there — we 
could hear the harness rattling of the chaise that was to carry 
us to safety — and then — ” She stopped and hid her face 
awhile. 

’Tis ower an’ done wi’ long sin’,” murmured the Sexton ; 
“ ower an’ done wi,’ Mistress.” 

“ ’Twill never be over and done with. Dick was killed — 
but I — I was not given death, only a merciful little spell of 
sleep.” 

“ Nay, I wish th’ poor body wod cry her een out,” thought 
the Sexton, watching the bright eyes and tragic face. I niver 
held wi’ a crying woman myseln, but I could thoyle tears 
better nor this stark, dry grief o’ hers.” 

But Mistress Wayne was far from tears as yet. A great 
load was on her heart, crushing the misery inward ; it was 
long before she could shake off the least part of it, but at last 
— after the Sexton had waited with a patience that was all his 
own — she crept nearer to him, and laid a hand on his, and be- 
gan to talk with a quiet and settled gravity. 

I was not at all to blame, Sexton,” she said. I think, if 
he knew all, even dead Wayne of Marsh might look with pity 
on me. I was so young when he brought me out of the 
sweet, warm South up into these dreary mountain-tops — so 
young, and the folk here were so harsh, and I hated them when 
they mocked me for my foreign ways. Wayne was kind, so 
far as he knew how to be, but I feared him — feared his stern- 
ness, and his hard dark face. The storms that only brought 
him ruder health were killing me, and the wind at nights, as it 
moaned about the chimney-stacks, was like a dirge. And 
Nell could not forgive me for coming a second wife to Marsh. 
I had no friend at all, save Shameless Wayne; they despised 
him as a drunkard and a reveller, but I never had aught but 
kindness and goodwill from him. Sexton, was it not 
hard ” 


214 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


Witherlee did not answer. His glance, roving to the far 
side of the graveyard, had fallen on his goodwife, who was 
nearing him with a brisk, decided step; and he, who feared 
no ghost that ever walked light-footed through the grasses, 
shrank from the tongue which was wont to fall like a flail on 
him. 

‘‘Ay, I said how ’twould be!” cried Nanny, while still a 
score yards oflF. “ Frittering thy time away, while th’ wife is 
wearing herseln bone-thin for thee. Here th’ dinner hes been 
cooked this half-hour, an’ th’ dumplings as cold as Christmas, 
an’ 1 alius did say th’ most worritsome trick a man could hev 
war coming late to his victuals.” 

“ I’m coming, fast as legs ’ull tak me,” said Witherlee, 
scrambling to his feet. “ An’ as for th’ dumplings — I’d as lief 
hev ’em cold as warm ; it’s all one when they’ve gone down a 
body’s throat.” 

“ Hearken to him ! All one, says he — he’ll be telling me 
next there’s nowt to choose ’twixt to-day an’ yesterday. Is’t 
all one whether tha\x. warm, or cold as one o’ yond coffin- 
chaps under sod ? — Ay, an’ now there’s Earnshaw coming. 
Well, well, if him an’ thee once get together, there’ll nowt 
less than a thunderstorm skift ye, an’ that I’ll warrant.” 

Earnshaw, coming up from the Bull tavern, met them as 
they turned the corner of the pathway. His hands were 
thrust deep into his pockets, and he wore his usual air of shift- 
less cheeriness. 

“ Blowing rain, I fancy,” said Earnshaw, standing square 
across the path. 

“ Blowing fiddlesticks,” snapped Nanny, who was in one of 
her worst fratching moods. “ Get out o’ th’ gate, Earnshaw, 
an’ let busier folk pass by. It’s weel to be thee, or Witherlee 
here — nowt to do save put hands i’ pockets, an’ tak ’em out 
again.” 

“Nay, now, tha’rt alius so bustling, Nanny. Tak life at a 
fair, easy pace, say I, an’ ye’ll noan need Witherlee’s pick an’ 
shovel this side o’ three-score years an’ ten. Hast heard th’ 
news, like ? ” 

The Sexton’s wife could not resist that simple query. 
“ News ? What’s agate ? ” she said, half turning about. 

“ Why, th’ Wildwater farm-lads is getting past all. There’s 
no day goes by now, so Hiram Hey telled me, but what they 


WAYNE OF MARSH RODE UP TO BENTS 215 


come to words or blows wi’ th’ Marsh lot. It means summat : 
like master, like man, an’ I warrant they’ve ta’en example fro’ 
th’ Lean Man hisseln. What mak o’ chance hcs Shameless 
W ay lie, that’s what I want to knaw ? ” 

‘^Tha wert up at Wildwater thyseln awhile back ? ” said the 
Sexton, still with one eye on his wife. 

Ay, for sure. I war in an’ amang ’em while I war doing 
yond walling job for th’ Lean Man ; an’ they war alius clever- 
ing then about what th’ Ratcliffes war bahn to do, an’ alius 
striving to pick a quarrel wi’ ony o’ th’ Marsh lads ’at came 

handy. I tak no sides myseln ” 

‘‘ I’ll warrant tha doesn’t. He’d nearly as lief wark as 
fight, wod slack-back Earnshaw,” put in Nanny. 

Well,” cried Witherlee, ‘^yond lad at Marsh is making as 
grand a fight as ony Wayne that’s gone afore him, an’ we’re 
all fain, I reckon, to see him win i’ th’ end. — What say ye. 
Mistress ? ” he broke off, turning to the little woman who sat 
apart, hearkening to their gossip but taking no share in it. 

‘‘ He will win, Sexton,” she answered quietly. Dost 
doubt it ? ” 

Nanny softened for a moment, as she, too, glanced at Mis- 
tress Wayne. ‘‘Not wi’ ye beside him. By th’ Heart, Mis- 
tress, but I’d be flaired for Shameless Wayne if he’d no friend 
sich as ye to keep him fro’ ill hap.” 

“ Nay, I can do naught — save sit with hands in lap some- 
times, and read the future, and see Ned moving safe through 
bloodshed and through glint of swords.” 

“ Do nowt ? ” echoed the Sexton’s wife. “ Ye said as mich 
when Bet Earnshaw axed ye to go an’ touch her bairn. Did 
ye do nowt that day. Mistress, or is it thanks to ye that th’ 
little un mended fro’ th’ minute ye set hand on her ? ” 

“ ’Tis something that goes out of me — I know not what,” 
murmured the little woman. “ It is strange, is it not, that such 
as I should have the gift of healing when wise men have 
failed ? ” 

“ Book-learning never cured a cough, as they say i’ Marsh- 
cotes,” put in Nanny. — “ Who’s that at th’ moor-gate ? 
Why, if it isn’t Mistress RatclifFe herseln ! My sakes, it’s a 
full kirkyard this morn. What mud she be after, think ye ? 
She’s hitching her horse to th’ gate-post, mark ye — an’ now 
she’s coming down wi’ that long, lad-like stride o’ hers, as if 


2i6 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


she war varry full o’ some business. — I’d rarely like to know 
what brings her so far afield.” 

Janet stopped on seeing the chattering group of rustics, with 
Mistress Wayne sitting quiet and motionless behind them ; 
then, finding that Earnshaw was among the gossips, the girl 
went down to him. The Sexton’s wife eyed her narrowly as 
she approached, and nodded her head with a gesture which 
said, more plainly than words could have done, that beauty 
and a free carriage were dust in the balance when weighed 
against the damning fact that she was born a RatclifFe. 

Earnshaw, I want thee to come and doctor that roan mare 
of mine,” said Janet. 

“ Doan’t axe him to do owt he could call wark. Mistress,” 
cried Nanny, missing no opportunity to gibe. Call it lak- 
ing, an’ he’ll come like a hare ; but reckon it’s wark, an’ ye 
may whistle a twelve-month for him.” 

Thee hod thy whisht, Nanny,” Earnshaw interposed. 
“ If there’s a horse to be physicked. Mistress RatclifFe hes come 
to th’ right man, choose who hears me say ’t.” 

There’s them as says tha wert born i’ a stable, Earnshaw, 
an’ I can weel believe it ; bred an’ born, I reckon, for tha’d 
walk further to see a horse nor to sup a quart of ale — an’ that’s 
saying a deal. Now, Witherlee, art coming, or shall I hev to 
sweep thee indoors wi’ a besom ? ” 

Nanny, her temper no wise improved on learning that Janet’s 
errand promised so little mystery, carried ofF Witherlee with- 
out more ado. Earnshaw could find no good excuse to linger 
after he had discussed the roan mare’s ailments with Janet; 
and he, too, passed up the graveyard and out at the top gate. 
The girl was about to follow him and ride home again, when 
Mistress Wayne called to her. 

Come hither. Mistress. I have somewhat to say to thee,” 
she cried, motioning the girl to the seat beside her. 

Janet, who had last seen her, a wind-driven waif, come 
wailing into the Wildwater hall, was startled by the change in 
her — by the wild grief in her blue eyes, and the resolution in 
her baby face. Without a word she took the proffered seat, 
wondering what Mistress Wayne could find to say to her. 

I saw you come in at the wicket, and I knew you,” said 
the other presently. It is so strange, girl ; all has come 
back to me in a wave, and I remember faces — dead faces. 


WAYNE OF MARSH RODE UP TO BENTS 217 

some of them ; and some again are living, and beautiful like 
yours. I want to talk with you of Ned — him they call 
Shameless Wayne.” 

Janet glanced at her in surprise. A faint colour crept over 
her brow. You — you know, then ? ” she murmured. 

Yes, I know. Often — in the days when I could only half 
understand — Ned talked of you to me ; and I recall now that, 
before the troubles came, you used to meet him up by the kirk- 
stone. Dear, I cannot let you both go into the pitiless 
marshes, as I have done. He loves you ” 

‘‘Ay, a little less than he loves his pride,” said Janet bit- 
terly. 

“Some day he will love you more.” She clutched the 
girl’s arm eagerly. “None knows but I how bitter the 
struggle has been for him. He is mad, mad, to let good love 
slip from him while he grasps at shadows. / had a man’s 
love once, girl, and I threw it aside, and — God pity all who 
let the gift go by.” 

Tears were crowding thick to the eyes of Mistress Wayne 
— warm, heart-healing tears which had been denied her until 
now. A sudden compassion seized Janet, and under the pity 
a gladness that Wayne of Marsh had found the struggle bitter 
as she could have wished it. 

“He loves me, say you? Say it again. Mistress; ’tis the 
pleasantest speech I’ve heard these long days past,” cried the 

girl- 

“ He is wearying for you — wearying for you. Hark ye, 
dear ! I cannot let you drift apart. Come with me back to 
Marsh, and I’ll make all smooth between you — ay, though 
Ned strives with all his might against us.” 

Janet smiled and shook her head. “ That is a little more, 
methinks, than the most love-sick maid would do. Bring him 
to me, and I will welcome him ” 

“ Nay, life is so short, so very short. See, I’m but a child 
yet, and impatient, and all my heart is set on giving Ned his 
happiness, because he cared for me when there was none else 
to befriend me. I’m sure ’twill all come right: Ned has gone 
riding up the moor, but he’ll be home by now, and we 
can ” 

“Up the moor, say ye ? ” cried Janet, with sudden misgiv- 
ing. “ Which road took he. Mistress ? ” 


2i8 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


Bents Farm, I think he said. He was to have gone 
yesterday, but was hindered.” 

Janet sprang to her feet and stood looking down on Mis- 
tress Wayne. This, then, was the end of her wise scheme ; 
this was the fruit of all her care for him. And in her reck- 
lessness she had bidden the Lean Man take three other Rat- 
clifFes to meet him by the way. 

What is’t ? ” asked Mistress Wayne, wonderingly. 

What is’t ? ” cried Janet, with a hard laugh. ‘‘ Naught, 
Mistress — save that I’ve murdered one who was dearer to me 
than my own body.” 

Turning, she ran up the path, and out at the wicket, and 
tugged at her horse’s bridle, which she had fastened to the 
gate-post, so hard that it broke between her hands. And fast 
as they galloped across the moor, toward Bents Farm, the 
pace seemed sluggish when measured by her thoughts. Was 
it too late ? Was Wayne already lying face to sky, with lids 
close-shut over the eyes that would see neither sky nor moor 
again ? Nay, it should not be, it must not be. 

Gallop, She would ride into the thick of them, and some- 
how pluck him from between their blades; they dared not 
strike a woman, one of their own kin, and while she held 
them oflF Wayne might compass his escape. Yet she knew it 
was too late, and again the picture came before her, clear in 
its every detail, of the quiet body and the upturned face that 
would be lying somewhere on this same road to Bents. Each 
turn of the way was a hell to her, because of what might lie 
beyond, each turning safely past was heaven. Gallop. There 
was yet time. 

She neared the dip of Hoylus Slack and heard the sound of 
hoof-beats in the hollow. It was done, then ; the strain was 
over, and there was no room for hope. Was this Red Rat- 
clifFe, come to bear news to Marsh that its Master was dead ? 
If so, she would gallop her horse against his, and snatch for 
his weapon as they fell together. The horseman was 
half up the hill now, and a great cry broke from her as she 
saw the blunt, rugged face with the kerchief tied across the 
brow. Pulling her beast back almost on to his haunches, she 
stood and waited till the horseman topped the rise and came 
to a sudden halt at sight of her. 

‘‘Ned, Ned, art safe ? ” she cried, reining in close beside him. 


WAYNE OF MARSH RODE UP TO BENTS 219 

Wayne of Marsh eyed her soberly. ‘‘ Safe ? Ay. Wilt 
sorrow or be glad of it, Mistress Janet ? ” 

‘‘ Cease mockery ! ” she pleaded. “ See, I would think 
shame to confess it at another time, but all the way from 
Marshcotes I have sickened at thought of — God’s pity, Ned, 
what might have chanced ! ” 

Weil, enough has chanced, I fancy, for one morning’s 
work. If a ripped forehead, that scarce will let me see for 

bleeding through the kerchief ” 

Stoop, Ned. Thou hast tied it ill, and my fingers are 
better at the work.” 

She was glad of the least labour she could do for him ; he 
might be churlish, he might accept her service as if it were a 
penance, but he was safe, and free to treat her as he would. 
Shrinking a little when the bandage was loosened, she glanced 
at the wound and noted its discoloured look. 

“ Bide awhile,” she said, slipping to the ground. Thou’lt 
have trouble with it, Ned, unless I lay fresh peat on it to 
drive out the bad humours.” 

‘‘’Twill heal of itself ; I would not trouble thee,” he mut- 
tered. It was a nice, bewildering point of honour to Wayne 
of Marsh, this acceptance of aid from RatclifFe hands, and 
he spoke with scant civility. 

But Janet was back already with a handful of the warm red 
mould, and she bade him get down from saddle that she might 
the better fasten on the bandage. 

“ Now tell me. How didst come through it, Ned ? ” she 
asked, tying a second knot in the kerchief. 

“ That is what I cannot tell thee. They met me, four of 
them, where the road is narrow up by Dead Lad’s Rigg.” 

“ Ay, four of them. God give me shame,” murmured 
Janet. 

“ I heard the Lean Man bid them stand aside and leave us 
to it, and after that I knew no more till he and I were lung- 
ing each at the other. He knocked my sword up at the last, 
and lifted his own blade to strike ” 

“Yes, yes, go on. What then, Ned ? ” 

“Nay, I told thee I could give no right answer. Just as I 
had given all up — with a thought, it may be, of one who had 
been forbidden — the Lean Man’s arm dropped to his side, and 
he sprang back in the saddle, all but unseating himself,” 


220 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


‘‘ But, Ned, I cannot credit it. Didst thou make no move- 
ment to drive him back ? ’’ 

None, for ’twas all done in a flash, and he might have split 
my skull in two if he had brought down that great blade of his.’’ 

Was there naught, then, to occasion it ? ” 

Naught that I could see, yet he backed as if the fiend 
were at his throat. His own folk were no less puzzled than 
I, but his terror ran out to them and held them ; and when I 
made at him afresh not one rode forward.” 

“ Didst — didst not kill him ? ” she said. Any but the Lean 
Man he might slay, but her grandfather — nay, she could not 
brook that when faced so suddenly with the chance of it. 

‘‘I did not,” answered Wayne grimly — for the reason 
that he fled.” 

Again she stared at him. “ Fled ? Grandfather fled, say’st 
thou ? ” 

“ Did I not say that there was RatclifFe pride in thee \ Ay, 
plain in thy voice, and in thy little faith that the Lean Man 
could flee. Yet so it is, Janet ; and I made after him almost 
to the gates of Wildwater ; and if his had not been the better 
horse ” 

Then whence came this ugly gash of thine } ’Tis all a 
puzzle, Ned, and my late fear for thee has dulled my wits, I 
think.” 

Why, his folk came after me in half-hearted fashion, and 
I had to ride through the three of them when I turned back 
for Wildwater. I took this cut in passing, and he who gave 
it me will go lame for the rest of a short life ; and then 
they, too, made off, daunted by the old man’s panic, and I 
was left to wonder what goblin had come between Nicholas 
Ratcliffe’s blade and me.” 

“ He has been strange of late — ever since the night when 
he came down to burn thee out of Marsh. Some illness has 
taken him ; it was the fire that did it, may be, when he fell 
face foremost into it.” 

They stood awhile, neither breaking the strained silence. 
Then Janet touched the bandage lightly, and smoothed it a 
little over the close-cropped hair, and, Ned,” she whispered, 
thou said’st something just now. With a thought of one who 
had been forbidden. Who was it, Ned ? ” 

Very grave he was ; not rough now, nor uncivil, but sad 


WAYNE OF MARSH RODE UP TO BENTS 221 


with the sadness that old hatreds, formed before his birth, had 
woven for him. 

“ Who should it be but thou, Janet ? I told myself in that 
one moment how well I loved thee — and I was glad. And 
then some strange thing warded death from me — and, see, the 
feud stands gaunt as ever between us two.” 

The reaction from her late dread was stealing over Janet 
fast, and with it there came the memory of how she had 
brought him into this desperate hazard, from which a miracle 
alone had saved him. 

Ned,” she cried, ‘‘ who bade the Lean Man take three of 
his folk against thee, think’st thou ? Who told them thou 
would’st ride to Bents Farm to-day ? ” 

“ Red RatclifFe, at a venture.” 

Nay, it was I. Thinking to keep thee safe, I said thou 
would’st go to Bents to-day instead of yestermorn. So thy 
wound, Ned, was all of my giving, and — why dost not hate 
me for it ? ” she finished, with a passion that ended in a storm 
of tears. 

Wayne set both arms about her then, and strove to comfort 
her ; angry he had seen her, and scornful, but this sudden 
grief, so little like her, and so unexpected, loosed all the harsh- 
ness that he was wont to set between them as a barrier when 
they met. 

‘‘ Nay, Janet, never cry because of what might have 
chanced and did not,” he whispered. ‘‘ ’Twas no fault of 
thine, lass, that I went to Bents to-day.” 

A sour face showed over the wall that bounded the left 
hand of the highway, and presently a pair of wide shoulders 
followed as Hiram Hey began to climb over into the road. 

What in the Dog’s name art doing here, Hiram ? ” cried 
his Master, starting guiltily away from Mistress Janet. 

‘‘ Nay, I like as I hed to look after some beasts i’ th’ High 
Pasture. ’Tis fine weather, Maister — but a thowt past mat- 
ing-time, I should hev said.” 

Thy ears are big, Hiram, but my hands will cover them.” 

Now, look ye ! It hes been a failing o’ mine wi’ th’ gen- 
try iver sin’ I war a lad ; I may speak as civil as ye please, 
an’ I get looks as black as Marshcotes steeple. An’ all th’ 
while I war nobbut thinking o’ two fond stock-doves that I 
fund nesting a three-week late up i’ Little John’s wood,” 


222 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


Janet waited for no more, but beckoned Wayne to lift her 
to the saddle and touched the roan mare with her whip. 

Is there danger for thee at Wildwater ? ” he whispered, 
clutching her bridle. “ If there be — I tell thee I’ll not let 
thee go.” 

Danger ? Nay, if thou hadst failed to go to Bents, there 
might have been ; but now they’ll think I warned them in 
good faith.” 

But what of the bargain, Janet ? The last time we met 
thou told’st me of some bargain, made by the Lean Man, 
which touched thy welfare.” 

She paused, eager to tell him all; but a second glance 
showed her that he was in no fit state just now to have more 
troubles thrust on him. Even the effort of lifting her to sad- 
dle had blanched his face ; the cloth was reddening, too, about 
his forehead, and he swayed a little as he held her rein. She 
must find a better time to tell him ; for if he learned what 
that grim bargain was which pledged her to his murderer, he 
would run headlong against her folk, weak as he was, and find 
himself outmatched. 

^‘The bargain was of little consequence,” she said. 

There was a price named for my hand— but such a price as 
none at Wildwater, I think, will ever claim. There, Ned ! 
Let go my bridle, for that hind of yours is watching all we 
do.” 

Still he was not satisfied ; but his hand slackened for a mo- 
ment on the rein, and Janet started forward at the trot. Once 
she turned, at the bend of the road, and waved to him ; and 
then the moor seemed emptied of its sunlight on the sudden. 

Wayne stood looking up the highway long after she had 
gone, and turned at last to find Hiram’s quiet grey eyes upon 
him. 

‘‘Well, Hiram? What art thinking of?” he said, with 
something between wrath and grudging laughter in his voice. 

“ Nowt so mich, Maister. ’Twould be a poor farmer as 
’ud frame to sow Hawkhill Bog wi’ wheat ; that war all I hed 
i’ mind. Soil’s soil, choose how ye tak it, an’ ye cannot alter 
th’ natur on ’t. Theer ! My thowts do run on farming till 
I’ve getten no room seemingly for owt else ; an’ I niver axed 
ye how ye came by this red coxcomb o’ yourn.” 

Wayne glanced over Hiram’s question as he put his foot in 


WAYNE OF MARSH RODE UP TO BENTS 223 


the stirrup. He read the old fellow’s meaning clear enough, 
and it angered him that his love for Janet should be hinted at 
under cover of this slow farming-talk. 

Soil’s soil, Hiram,” he said, and I had as lief sow corn 
on yond stone wall as look for any crop of kindliness from 
that dried heart of thine.” 

Begow, he knows nowt about me an’ Martha,” chuckled 
Hiram, as his Master rode down the highway. My heart’s 
as soft as butter nowadays ; but I wodn’t let young Maister 
guess it. — Martha, now. I believe i’ going slow, an’ that’s 
gospel, but I’m getting flaired she’ll slip me. There’s shep- 
herd Jose, th’ owd fooil, dangling at her apron-strings, an’ 
I’d be main sorry to see a lass like Martha so senseless as to 
wed him just for spite. — Well, Martha’s noan a RatclifFe, 
thanks be, an’ that’s more nor th’ Maister can say o’ yond 
leetsome wench fro’ Wildwater. She’ll bring him trouble yet, 
as sure as I shall mow th’ Low Meadow by and by.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE DOG-DREAD 

A SOFT wind was fluttering from the edge of dark. The 
moon lay like a silver sickle over Dead Lad’s Rigg, watching 
the fading banners of the sunset go down beneath the dark 
red-purple of the heath. No bird piped, save the ever-moan- 
ing curlew ; the reeds whispered one to another, nodding their 
sleepy heads together ; the voice of waters distant and of wa- 
ters near at hand sobbed drearily. Over all was the master- 
ful silence of the sky, that dread and mighty stillness of the 
star-spaces where the hill-gods stretched tired limbs and slum- 
bered. Full of infinite sweets was the breeze, and the scent 
of heather mingled with the damp, heart-saddening odour of 
marsh-weeds and of bog-mosses. 

The Lean Man, prone in the heather with his eyes on the 
dying sunset, felt every subtle influence of the hour. His life’s 
grand failure had been compassed, the first and last deep terror 
had laid its grip on him ; the wide moor, which had spoken 
of freedom once, was narrowed now to a prison, whose walls 
of sky were creeping close and closer in upon him. Man- 
like, he clothed his own dead passions — his love of fight, his 
pitiless lust for vengeance — with all the majesty of larger na- 
ture ; man-like, he thought the moor’s face darkened for his 
own tragedy, that even the curlews thrilled with something of 
his own intimate and tearless sorrow. What was this ghoul 
that had come, naught out of nothingness, and chilled the life- 
blood in him ? It was a phantom, yet a hard reality — a thing 
of unclean vapours, yet stronger than if it had plied a giant’s 
sword with more than a giant’s strength of arm. 

Near must all men come, once in their lifetime, to that 
deep horror of brain and heart when they stand, less and 
greater than their manhood, at the gulf-edge which lies be- 
tween them and the space that fathered them. The Lean 
Man was peering over the gulf to-night, and the soul of him 
was naked to the moor-wind. No groan, no little muttered 

224 


THE DOG-DREAD 


225 


protest escaped him ; for throat and lips were powerless, and 
the body that they served stood far off from Nicholas Rat- 
clifFe. 

The night wears late, grandfather. Will you not come 
home to Wildwater ? ” said a low voice at his side. 

He did not hear till the words had been twice repeated ; 
then, starting as if a rude hand had wakened him from sleep, 
he began to moisten dry lips with a tongue as dry. 

‘‘Janet, what brings thee here ? ’’ he said hoarsely. 

“ Care for you, sir. You have been out of health, and I 
feared to leave you so late on the moor lest sickness ” 

He laughed brokenly. “ Sickness — ay. I have been — not 
well. ’Twas rightly spoken, girl.” 

His mood changed presently. The nearness of this girl, 
who alone had touched his heart to deep and selfless love ; the 
drear sympathy of the gloaming heath ; the swift and over- 
powering need of fellowship; all made for the confession 
which he had kept close locked these many days. 

“Sit thee down beside me, Janet. Thou’lt take no hurt 
from the warm night. There, lass. And let me put an arm 
about thee — so. God’s life, how real thou art, after the bog- 
gart-company Pve kept of late.” 

Her cheeks burned at thought of the poor requital she had 
given his love; but she would not remember Wayne of 
Marsh, and she waited, her grey eyes pitiful on his, until he 
should find words to ease his trouble. 

“We’ll start far back, Janet,” he said, slowly, “in the old 
days before my father, or his father’s father before him, had 
seen the light. RatclifFes were at feud then with Waynes, 
and both were busy sowing the crop which generation after 
generation was to reap. The tale is old to thee, but thou’lt 
not grudge to hear it all again ? ” 

“ Not that tale to-night, grandfather — any tale save that,” 
pleaded the girl. 

But Nicholas did not hear her. “ The tale,” he went on, 
“ is of how one Anthony RatclifFe, dwelling at Wildwater, 
rode down to Marsh to slay Rupert Wayne. He found there 
only Wayne’s young wife, and asked where her goodman was. 
She would not answer; so Anthony RatclifFe bade his men 
heat a sword-blade in the fire till it was white, and had the 
lady of Marsh stripped mother-naked, and marked a broad red 


226 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


scar all down her body between each question and each re- 
fusal of an answer. But she would not tell where Wayne 
had gone — not till she heard the steel hiss for the fifth time 
on her tender flesh. And then she told that he was riding 
home over Ludworth Slack ; and they left her dying of her 
wounds.” 

Hush, grandfather ! I cannot bear it. Hark to the 
rushes yonder — and the curlews — they’ve heard your tale, 
methinks.” 

’Tis grim, lass, but what I have to tell thee is grimmer 
still, so bide in patience. They got to horse again, Anthony 
RatclifFe and his men, and they met Wayne of Marsh on the 
road, riding home with his favourite hound for company. 
They made at him, and the hound sprang straight and true at 
Anthony’s throat ” — the Lean Man halted a moment and wiped 
the sweat-drops from his forehead — ‘‘ and nipped the life out 
of him. One of his folk thrust a spear then through the dog’s 
heart, and the rest fell upon Wayne of Marsh and slew him.” 

Janet thought of another Wayne of Marsh who had lately 
been met in just such a fashion up by Dead Lad’s Rigg. 

Go on, grandfather,” she whispered, in an awe-stricken 
voice. 

Mark well the end of the old tale, girl. A company of 
Wayne’s kinsfolk, riding near to Ludworth Slack soon after 
the RatclifFes had set ofF again for home, heard a hound’s bay- 
ing from across the moor ; they followed and the baying went 
on before them till they reached the spot where Wayne lay 
dead — and beside him Anthony RatclifFe, with teeth-marks 
at his throat — and, a little way ofF, Wayne’s hound, fast stif- 
fening.” 

The girl had heard the tale not once nor twice before ; but 
it came with a new force to-night, for every mention of the 
hound brought a spasm of mortal anguish to the Lean Man’s 
face, and in a flash she guessed his secret. 

The hound was dead, mark ye,” went on Nicholas, as if 
compelled to dwell on details that he loathed ; yet the bay- 
ing never ceased. No round and honest bay it was, but 
ghostly, wild and long-drawn-out ; and it would not let them 
stay there, but took them on and on until they saw the Rat- 
cliffes far up ahead of them, climbing the hill toward Wild- 
water. They galloped with a will then, and overtook them 


THE DOG-DREAD 


227 

at a score yards from the courtyard gate, and left but one 
alive, who won into safety after desperate hazard.” 

The moon was silver-gold now and her rays fell coldly on 
the Lean Man’s head, on his twitching mouth and haunted 
eyes. The curlews never rested from complaint, and the 
note of many waters seemed, to the girl’s strained fancy, the 
voice of the hound who had bayed, long centuries ago, on 
Ludworth Slack. 

The one left alive took on the Wildwater line,” said 
Nicholas, after a long pause ; but he had the Dog-dread till 
he died, and his children had it after him, and his children’s 
children. For he, too, had heard the dead hound baying up 
the moor, and its note was branded on his heart.” 

‘‘ And that is Barguest, grandfather,” said Janet, creeping 
closer to him. 

That, lass, is Barguest. That is why the Marsh folk 
take Wayne and the Dog for their cry. The hound that slew 
old Anthony has dwelt with the Waynes ever since ; no peril 
comes nigh them, but he must warn them of it : and some- 
times he — ” The Lean Man stopped, and put a hand to his 
throat, and glanced at the fingers as if he looked for blood on 
them. 

She gathered a little courage from his lack of it. “ The 
tale is old as yonder hills, and Barguest walks in legends only. 
Is it not so ? ” she said, but with a tremour in her voice. 

“ I said as much, Janet, for nigh on three-score years. I 
cast out the old dead fears, and laughed at the Waynes and 
their guardian hound — and thou see’st to what I have come at 
last. It began when I nailed the hand above the Marsh door- 
way ; when Nanny Witherlee — God curse her — told me I 
had crossed Barguest on the threshold. Still I laughed, 
though she has the second-sight, they say ; but the fear even 
then ran chill through me. Thou know’st the rest, girl — 
how I have fought it, and cast it off, and been conquered in 
the end. But none knows — not even thou, dear lass — what 
sweat of terror has dripped from me by nights.” 

I have guessed,” she answered softly, ‘‘ and have grieved 
for you more than ever I told you of.” 

He was quiet for a space ; then rose and began to walk up 
and down the heather; and after that he dropped sullenly 
again to Janet’s side. “Not long since I met Shameless 


228 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


Wayne on Dead Lad’s Rigg, and fought with him,” he went 
on. I all but had him — my blade was lifted high to strike 
— and then — out of the empty moor a great brown hound 
leaped up at me. His jaws were running crimson froth, and 
his teeth shone white as sun on snow, and he bayed — once — 
and then he had me by the throat.” 

Sir, ’twas your fancy ! I tell you, it was fancy,” cried 
Janet wildly. ‘‘ Did Wayne see it, or Red RatclifFe, or ” 

None saw it save I. Dost mind the tale of how my 
father died, Janet ? For dread of the Dog. ’Tis the eldest- 
born that sees it always, and none beside. — Hark ye, he’s bay- 
ing across the marshland yonder ! Fly, girl — fly, I tell thee, 
lest he set his seal on thee in passing.” 

She stifled her own dread and pleaded with him — quietly, 
sanely, with the tender forcefulness that only her kind can 
compass. He grew quieter by and by, and set himself with 
something of his old force of will to tell the tale to its end. 

I shall never shake it off again, Janet,” he said. “ Each 
day it has a new sort of dread in waiting for me. Sometimes 
I am athirst and dare not drink — the sound of water is frenzy 
to my wits ” 

Have any of the Wildwater dogs turned on you of late ^ ” 
she asked, with a sudden glance at him. 

‘‘ Nay, lass ! There’s no key to the trouble there.” 

“Are you sure, sir? You recall how one of the farm-dogs 
ran mad a year ago, and a farm-hand, trying to kill him, was 
bitten on the arm — and again on the hand as he tried to snatch 
a hair as a cure against the mad-sickness ? He, too feared 
water ” 

“ Ay, and died of a sickness of the body, plain to be felt 
and known. But what of me, girl ? ’Tis a mind-sickness, 
this — a dumb, soft-stepping, noiseless thing that flees if one 
stands up to it, only to come back, and snarl, and grin, the 
moment the heart fails for weariness. Come, we’ll get us 
home, Janet. It has eased me a little to tell thee of it — haply 
thou’lt help me make a last big fight.” 

“ God willing, sir,” she murmured, as she turned to walk 
beside him. 

Once only he broke silence on the way to Wildwater. 
Stopping, he bared his throat to the moonlight, and bade her 
look well at it, and watched with anxious eyes as she obeyed. 


THE DOG-DREAD 


229 

‘‘Canst — canst see the teeth-marks there ? ” he whispered. 

*Tis smooth, sir, without a scratch on ’t.” 

Pass thy hand over — lightly. I can feel the deep wound 
burn and sting — surely thy fingers can feel the pit.” 

“ There is no wound, grandfather — no wound at all.” 

He drew his breath again, and laughed, and, Tell me 
again, dear lass,” he said, ‘^that it is fancy — naught but 
fancy.” 

It is altogether fancy,” she answered. 

‘‘ Art tricking me ? ” he said with sudden suspicion. ‘‘ Let 
me see thy fingers, lass — the fingers that touched my throat.” 

She held her hand out to him. ‘‘ There’s no stain on them, 
sir. Have I not told you ? ” she cried, striving to keep the 
terror from her voice as best she could. 

Why, no,” he whispered ; no stain at all. And yet ” 

And after that they spoke no word until Wildwater gates 
showed dark in front of them. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE FEUD-WIND FRESHENS 

It was high summer now on Marshcotes Moor. Every- 
where the farm-folk were full of the busy idleness which 
comes when ploughing and sowing are over and the crops are 
not yet ready for the scythe or sickle. The lads found time 
to go a-courting in shaded lanes or up by the grey old kirk- 
stone ; their elders did much leaning over three-barred gates, 
with snuflF between a thumb and forefinger, while they talked 
of hay-harvest, of the swelling of corn-husks in the ear, of 
the feud which had been so hot in the spring and which now 
seemed like to die for want of feul. 

For a strange thing had chanced at Wildwater. The Lean 
Man, once dauntless, had grown full of some unnamed terror ; 
and, though his arm seemed strong as ever and his body full 
of vigour, his brain was sapless and inert. His folk came to 
him with fresh plans for slaying Wayne of Marsh j and he 
turned a haunted eye on them, and said that naught could kill 
the lad. The cloud which had hung over Marsh House had 
settled now on Wildwater, and even the hot youngsters were 
chilled by a sense of doom. If the Lean Man had given up 
hope, they said, what chance had they of snaring Shameless 
W ay ne ? 

And so the days went on, and the feud slumbered, and Janet 
was torn between sorrow for her grandfather and gladness that 
his malady left Wayne free from ambush or attack. Each 
day, indeed, seemed to bring fresh trouble in its train ; for Red 
RatclifFe, dumbfounded as he had been when their errand to 
Bents Farm had proved no wild-goose chase, was yet distrust- 
ful of his cousin. She had spoken a true word that day, and 
they had met Wayne; but there was some devilry hid under 
it, and haply she knew enough of the Black Art which had 
saved her lover to be sure no harm could come to him. Laugh 
at superstition as he might, Red RatclifFe had not been cradled 

230 


THE FEUD-WIND FRESHENS 


231 


in the winds and reared among the grim wastes of heath for 
naught ; he and his fellows were slow to acknowledge witch- 
craft and the boggarts that stepped in moorside tales, but the 
seed, once planted, found a rich soil and a deep in which to 
come to leaf. Little by little he was growing to believe that 
Janet was the cause of each discomfiture at Wayne’s hands; 
and, while he let no chance pass of railing on her for a witch, 
he uttered many a scarce-veiled threat that soon he would 
throw all to the winds and hold her without leave of the Lean 
Man or the Parson. 

As for Shameless Wayne, he had ceased to wonder that no 
fresh attack was made on him. He would die when Fate or- 
dained, and nothing could alter that ; but the farm-work, 
meanwhile, at which he laboured as distastefully and keenly as 
of old, was going grandly forward, and not sour Hiram Hey 
himself could say that the land had gone backward since he 
took the charge of it. Janet had been right when she named 
pride his strongest passion ; and even his love for her, self- 
thwarted, could not rob him of a certain sober joy in raising 
crops in face of RatclifFe sword-points and the keen-toothed 
winds. It was all uphill nowadays for Wayne of Marsh ; and 
each new difficulty overcome gave him hard and sure content 
such as no wild frolic of his earlier days had brought. 

Yet the summer bore hardly on him when he thought of 
Janet. No farm-hind but was free to couple with his mate ; 
only the Master, it seemed, was doomed to go lonely through 
these spendthrift days of sun and warm south winds and ripen- 
ing meadow-grass. 

“Art gloomy, Ned, of late. Is it because the Ratcliffes 
scruple to come down and fight with thee ? ” said his sister, as 
they sat in hall one evening and watched the stir of bees 
among the roses that clambered up the window-panes. 

“ Nay, for I am always fighting one of them — and never 
more than after a week’s idleness.” 

Her voice grew cold. “ ’Tis time thou didst turn from 
that — and time Marsh had a mistress. Are there no maids, 
save one, about the moorside ? ” 

“ None for me, nor ever will be. Besides, Marsh has its 
mistress ; thou’rt not going to leave us, Nell ? ” 

“ By and by I must. Rolf is getting out of hand, and 
will take the old excuse no longer. Faith, I begin to think 


232 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


he loves me very dearly, for every day he , thwarts me more and 
more.” 

Thy place is with him, after all, and Fm a fool to think 
to keep thee here forever. — Where are the lads, Nell ? Hunt- 
ing still, ril warrant.” 

Ay. They are restless since they fought the Lean Man ; 
each morning they seem to start earlier for the chase, and sun- 
down rarely sees them home again.” 

‘‘Well, it is making men of them. They are learning a 
shrewd turn of fence, too, and when their time comes they 
will know how to parry RatclifFe cuts. — We wash the sheep 
to-morrow, Nell ; wilt ride with me and watch the scene ? If 
a red sunset be aught to go by, we shall have a cloudless 
day.” 

“To-morrow I cannot. ’Tis churning-day, Ned, and the 
butter is always streaked when I leave those want-wit maids 
alone with it.” 

“ It is better that thou should’st not go,” said Wayne, after 
a pause. “ I was a fool to speak of it, Nell, for the washing- 
pools lie over close to Wildwater, and ’twould be unsafe for 
women-folk.” 

“ Unsafe ? ” she echoed, with a quick glance at him. 
“Then ’tis unsafe for thee, Ned, and Fll not have thee go to 
the washing at all.” 

“That is folly, lass. I have a sword, and I carry less 
risks than a maid would. — A rare holiday the men would 
have, my faith, if I left them to wash the sheep at their own 
good pleasure.” 

“Take the lads with thee, then, if thou must go.” 

“ I promised them they should go hawking until dinner- 
time, and after that they must come up ; but why spoil a 
morning’s pastime for them ? ” 

“ The old tales fret at times,” she answered gravely, “ and 
to-night Fm sad a little, Ned, like thee. The washing-pools 
lie near to Wildwater, as thou say’st, and thou know’st how 
Waynes and RatclifFes first fell out.” 

“Tut! If I give heed to women’s fancies, when shall I 
find an hour to move abroad in ? The RatclifFes have got 
their fill for a good while to come, and they’ll keep well on 
the far side of the pools, I warrant. What, Mistress ? Thy 
wanderings have brought thee supperless indoors,” he broke 


THE FEUD-WIND FRESHENS 


233 


ofF, as his step-mother opened the door softly and set down a 
basket of marsh-marigolds among the dishes and platters that 
cumbered the great dining-table. 

Nell rose with no word of greeting and left them ; and Mis- 
tress Wayne, glancing in troubled fashion after her, crossed to 
the window and leaned against it. 

I had better have stayed as I was, Ned,’’ she said, smiling 
gravely. Nell was growing kind — but that has passed now 
I have found my wits again.” 

He winced ; for he knew that he, too, had felt less kindli- 
ness toward her since her helplessness had gone. Looking at 
her now, frail against the mullioned casement, he could not 
but remember that it was she, in her right mind as she was 
now, who had fouled the good fame of his house. 

‘‘ Ay, and thou hast a touch of her aloofness, too,” she went 
on. I can read it in thy face, Ned. — Listen. I’ve had in 
mind to tell thee something these days past, but have never 
found the words for it. I wronged thy father — but not as 
deeply as thou think’st. Ned ! Canst not think what it meant 
to me — the dreariness, the cold, the hardness of this moorland 
life ? And when Dick Ratcliffe came, and promised to take 
me out of it ” 

‘‘ See, Mistress, there’s naught to be gained by going over 
the old ground,” he interrupted harshly. 

But, Ned, there is much to be gained. Am I so rich in 
friends that I can let one as staunch as thou go lightly ? 
Thou’rt midway between hate and love of me, I know, and 
if — Ned, if I were to tell thee I was less to blame — ” She 
stopped and eyed him wistfully. 

It was not in Shameless Wayne to resist this sort of plead- 
ing from one who had shared with him the bitter months of 
disfavour and remorse. They had been comrades in adversity, 
he and she ; and was he to turn on her now because she could 
no longer claim pity for her witlessness ? 

‘‘ Thou need’st tell me naught, little bairn,” he said. 

Ah, but I need ! I was dying, Ned — dying for lack of 
warmth. And Dick Ratcliffe promised to take me into 
shelter; and I clutched at the chance greedily, as a prisoner 
would if one came and offered him liberty. But the wrong 
that Wayne fancied of me, when he found us in the orchard, 
I had never thought to do — never, dear. I was a child, and 


^34 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


loved Ratcliffe because he showed me a way out of trouble ; 
and I meant to go away with him because — how shall I tell 
thee, so as to make thee credit it ? I had not a thought of — 
Ned, I was not wicked, only tired — tired, till I had no eyes to 
see the straight road, nor heart to follow it. I was hungering 
for warmth ; the ghosts were so busy all about Marsh House, 
and I wanted the happy valleys, out of reach of the curlew- 
cries and the shuddering midnight winds.” 

Wayne put an arm about her. “It was worth telling, 
bairn,” he said quietly, “ and father would lie quieter if he 
knew that his honour had not gone so far astray.” 

“ Thou’lt still keep a friend to me ” she whispered. 

The gloom settled more heavily upon his face. “Thou 
talk’st as if I were thy judge,” he said. “ ’Twas only in 
seeming thou didst the worst wrong to father — but what of 
me Did I look so carefully to his honour? Or was it his 
own eldest-born who darkened his last days, who made his 
name a by-word up and down the country-side, who drank 
while a kinsman fought the vengeance-fight for him ? Not 
if I work to my life’s end to wipe off the stain, will it come 
clean.” 

“ ’Tis cleansed already, Ned, twice over cleansed — and 
there’s one waiting who will give thee thanks for it. I met her 
not long since in the kirkyard, and I never saw love so plain 
on a maid’s face.” Her voice was eager, and the words came 
fast, as if she had given long thought to the matter. 

“Mistress Ratcliffe, thou mean’st ? ” said Wayne, after a 
silence. “ What ails thee, bairn, to be so hot for this unlikely 
wedding ? ” 

“ Because she is straight and strong, and full of care for 
thee ; because, when an ill chance led me once to Wild water, 
it was she who took pity on me and showed me a safe road to 
Marsh. Ned, she is the one wife in the world for thee ; why 
wilt thou cling to the old troubles ? ” 

He shook his head. “The troubles are new that stand 
’twixt Janet and myself — and any day may bring forth more 
of them.” 

“ Thy folk will be her folk, if thou’lt take her,” she broke 
in eagerly. “ She lives among rough men — there’s danger 
every hour for her.” 

Mistress Wayne had struck the right note at last. Half | 


THE FEUD-WIND FRESHENS 


235 


willing as he was to be convinced, and imbued with the sense 
that the fairy-kist could give no wrong advice, he would yet 
have held obstinately to his old path. But he took lire at the 
suggestion that there was danger to the girl at Wildwater. 
Now and then a passing fear of it had crossed his own self- 
poised outlook on the situation ; but a hint of it from another 
roused all his smouldering jealousy and passion. 

‘‘ Danger ? Of what ? ” he cried. 

But Mistress Wayne had no time to answer; for the door 
opened on the sudden and the four lads came tumbling into 
hall, piling the fruits of their long day’s sport in a heap against 
the wall. 

“A rare day we’ve had, Ned ! ” cried GrilF. Ay, we’re 
late for supper, but thou’lt not grudge it when thou see’st how 
many other suppers we’ve brought home to larder.” 

Wayne looked at the heap of grouse and snipe, conies and 
hares and moor-cock. ‘‘Well, fall to, lads,” he laughed, 
“ and I’ll save my scolding till ye’re primed against it. — Are 
ye still bent on hawking to-morrow, after this full day’s sport ? ” 

“ Ay, are we ! ” cried GrifF. “We’re but the keener set to 
have another day of it.” 

“ Then go ; but mind ye come straight up to the washing- 
pool after dinner. ’Tis time ye learned the ways of farming.” 

The youngsters made wry faces at this as they settled them- 
selves to the mutton-pasty. 

“We met the Lean Man again to-day,” said one presently, 
in between two goodly mouthfuls. 

“ And what said he to you ? ” 

“ Naught. He wore as broken a look as ever I saw, and 
when we rode at him with a shout ” 

“ Lads, lads, fight men less skilled at sword-play than the 
Lean Man,” put in Shameless Wayne, smiling the while at 
their spirit. 

“ But he fled from us, Ned — minding the night, I warrant, 
when we took him in the back with yond stone ball. Yet 
they say he’s always like that now ; Nanny Witherlee tells 
me he sees the Dog at the side of every Wayne among us, and 
flees from that, not from us.” 

“ Nanny is a fond old wife, with more tales on her tongue- 
tip than hairs on her thinning thatch.” 

“Yet — dost mind what I saw, too, that night in the 


236 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


garden?’’ said Mistress Wayne. Brown, blunt-headed — I 
can see him yet, Ned, as he fawned against thy side.” 

Wayne did not answer, though he paled a little, and soon 
he made excuse to leave them. 

‘‘Where art going, Ned ? We’ve fifty tales to tell thee of 
the day’s sport,” cried Griff. 

“ But have I idleness enough to listen, ye careless rascals ? ” 
laughed Wayne from the door. “I must see Hiram Hey 
and make all ready against to-morrow’s work.” 

“ Thou’lt not find him, for he was going into the Friendly 
Inn with shepherd Jose as we passed through Ling Crag.” 

“Was he?” growled the other. “Hiram is a poor 
drinker by his own showing, and a man with no spare time on 
his hands — but he has worn many a tavern threshold bare. I’ll 
warrant, since he first learned to set lips to pewter.” 

And, indeed, Hiram wore a leisurely air enough at the mo- 
ment. Stretched at his ease on the wide lang-settle of the 
Friendly Inn, he was handling a mug of home-brewed and 
watching the crumbling faces in the peat-fire, while shepherd 
Jose talked idly to him from the window. 

“ There’s somebody got four gooid legs under him,” said 
Jose, as the racket of horse-hoofs came up the road. 

“Ay, by th’ sound. Who is’t, Jose?” answered Hiram 
lazily. 

“Why, Mistress Janet fro’ Wildwater. She’s a tidy seat 
i’ th’ saddle, hes th’ lass,” said the shepherd, pressing his face 
closer to the glass to see the last of her. 

“ A wench can hev a tidy seat i’ th’ saddle, an’ yet be leet 
as thistle-down.” 

“ Ay, but she hes a snod way wi’ her, an’ all. I’ve thowt, 
whiles, she hed more o’ th’ free, stand-up look o’ th’ Waynes 
about her nor her breecf warrants.” 

“Well, there’s some say that, if wishes war doings, she’d 
hev a Wayne name to her back,” said Hiram, shifting to an 
easier posture. 

“ Nowt o’ th’ sort ! ” put in the shepherd warmly. “ Th’ 
young Maister may hev been a wild-rake, an’ he may be wil- 
ful i’ farming-matters an’ sich — but he’d niver foul th’ owd 
name by gi’eing it to a RatclifFe.” 

“ That’s as may be. But young blood’s young blood, an’ 
she’s winsome to look at, as nawther thee nor me can deny.” 


THE FEUD-WIND FRESHENS 


237 


There war summat betwixt ’em, now I call to mind, afore 
this last brew o’ trouble war malted. I’ve heard tell o’ their 
meeting i’ th’ owd days up by th’ kirk-stone when they thowt 
nobody war looking. But that’s owered wi’. Tha doesn’t 
fancy there could be owt o’ th’ sort now, Hiram ? — Theer, 
get thy mug filled up, lad, for tha needs a sup o’ strong drink 
to brace thee for th’ long day’s sheep-weshing to-morn.” 

I’ll hev my mug filled, Jose, lad — though I’m no drinker 
— an’ I’ll keep my thowts about th’ Maister an’ th’ Wild- 
water lass to myseln. But I’ve seen what I’ve seen — ay, not 
a three week sin’ — an’ if iver tha hears ’at two folk are court- 
ing on th’ sly, doan’t thee say I didn’t tell thee on ’t, that’s 
all.” 

‘‘ What didst see, like, a three week sin’ ? ” asked Jose the 
shepherd, his head tilted gossip-wise to one side. 

‘‘Nay, I war niver one to spread tales abroad, not 1. But 
it warn’t a mile fro’ where I’m sitting now, on th’ varry road 
’at runs past th’ tavern here, that I happened on two folk 
standing fair i’ th’ middle o’ th’ highway. An’ one war fear- 
ful like the Maister, an’ t’ other warn’t so different fro’ Mis- 
tress RatclifFe j an’ they war hugging one another summat 
fearful.” 

“ Now, come, Hiram ! Gossip’s gossip, but I’ll noan be- 
lieve that sort o’ talk about th’ Maister.” 

“ That’s as it pleases thee, lad. I nobbut said ’at th’ couple 
I saw war like as two peas to him an’ Mistress Janet. Ay, 
an’ they’d getten dahn fro’ their bosses, an’ she war crying 
like a gooid un i’ his arms. Well, ’tis as Nanny Witherlee is 
alius saying, I fear me — if a blackberry’s nobbut out o’ reach, 
ye’ll find all th’ lads i’ th’ parish itching for ’t.” 

“Well, I mun tak thy word for owt to do wi’ courting,” 
said the shepherd drily. “ Tha’ it framing to learn nowadays 
thyseln, so they tell me.” 

“An’ what about thee ? ’’cried Hiram, roused from the tran- 
quil gaiety which his bit of gossip afforded him. “ I’d think 
shame, if my hair war as white as thine, Jose, to turn sheep’s 
eyes on a young wench like Martha.” 

Jose chuckled, as if he could tell much but would not, and 
Hiram Hey grew more and more disquieted as he wondered if, 
after all, he had gone too slow with the first and last great 
courtship of his life. 


238 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


While Hiram sat nursing his mug, and while the shepherd 
kept a quizzing eye upon his moodiness, the inn door was 
thrown open and three rough-headed fellows stamped noisily 
into the bar. It smells foul,” said one, stopping at sight of 
Hiram and the shepherd, and holding his nostrils between a 
dirt-stained thumb and forefinger. 

^^Ay,” said another, ^Mt’s th’ Wayne smell — ^ye can wind 
’em like foxes wheriver ye leet on their trail.” 

Yond’s Wildwater talk,” said Hiram to the shepherd, not 
shifting his position on the settle. ^‘They’re reared on wind 
up yonder, an’ it gets into their tongues, like.” 

‘‘Thee shut thy mouth, Hiram Hey; tha’rt ower owd to 
gi’e lip-sauce to lusty folk,” said the foremost of the Wild- 
water trio, coming to the back of the settle and leaning threat- 
eningly over the old man. 

Hiram lifted himself slowly into a sitting-posture. “ There’s 
breed i’ us owd uns,” he said ; “ th’ race weakened by th’ 
time it got to sich as thee.” 

“We’ll see about that,” said his assailant, and stooped 
quickly, his hands toward Hiram’s throat. 

But Hiram shot out his arms with unlooked-for vigour, and 
gripped his man under the arm-pits, and pulled him like a kit- 
ten over the high back of the lang-settle. Then he got to 
his feet, still hugging the other close, and gave a steady swing, 
and landed him clean over his left shoulder on to the sanded 
floor-stones. 

“If awther o’ ye others hes owt to say. I’m noan stalled 
yet,” said Hiram, dropping to his seat again. 

The fallen man did not move for a space ; and then he 
clapped a hand to one knee with an oath. “ There’s summat 
broken,” he groaned. 

“ Likely,” put in Hiram Hey. “ I’ve hed chaps mell on 
me afore, an’ it mostly ends th’ same way.” 

The two who were still unhurt helped their comrade to the 
door, and turned for a sour look at Hiram. “ Turn an’ turn 
about,” said one; “ there’s summat i’ bottle for all ye Wayne 
chaps, an’ I’ll look to thee myseln, Hiram Hey, when th’ 
chance comes.” 

“ Summat i’ bottle, is there ? ” said the shepherd, after they 
had gone. “ Th’ Lean Man hes been fearful quiet lately ; I 
feared he war hatching weasel-eggs. Ay, an’ his men hev 


THE FEUD-WIND FRESHENS 


239 

been quiet, an’ all ; ’tis mony a week sin’ we bed ony sort o’ 
moil wi’ ’em.” 

“Well, I’m stalled o’ wondering what’s to happen next,” 
said Hiram, yawning with great content. “ I war all a-shiver 
when th’ feud first broke out, an’ ivery day I looked to be 
shotten at th’ least, if not sliced up wi’ a sword at after. But 
th’ days jog on somehow, an’ there’s nowt mich comes to 
cross th’ farm-wark.” 

“ Yond war a shrewd lift o’ thine, Hiram,” said the shep- 
herd presently, seating himself at the other side of the hearth. 

“ I learned to lift, lad, when I war a young un j an’ ye 
doan’t loss that sort o’ trick so easy. ’Tis weel enough for 
these lads to be all for fighting wi’ their fists — but let me get 
to grips wi’ a man when he means mischief, say I, an’ he’ll 
noan do me mich harm. — Now, Jose, art bahn to get another 
mug-full ? I’m fain o’ laziness to-neet, an’ I could weel sup 
another quart, though I’m nowt mich at drinking myseln.” 

Janet, meanwhile, had ridden straight home to Wild water 
after passing the window of the Friendly Inn, and had en- 
countered Red Ratcliffe as she led her horse round to stable. 

“ Dost ride from Marsh ? ” he sneered, blocking the stable- 
door. 

“ From seeing a better man than thou Nay. I have no 
dealings with Wayne of Marsh.” 

“ Thou’lt have no chance of such dealings by and by.” 

“ Indeed ? ” Lifting her brows a little, but disdaining to 
ask his leave to pass the door. “ Indeed, Ratcliffe the Red ? 
I thought — it might have been but fancy — that somehow thou 
didst shirk talk with Wayne of Marsh ? ” 

“ The Lean Man does — but there’s younger blood than his 
to carry on the feud. We’re sick of waiting for the call that 
never comes, and soon we mean to show Nicholas that what 
he has not wit to compass, we can.” 

“ So eager to clinch the bargain ? ” she mocked. “ Should 
I make thee a good wife, think’st thou ? — There, take him to 
stall thyself,” she added, putting the bridle into his hand. “ I 
know thou canst stable a horse, if thou hast scant knowledge 
of how to woo a maid. ’’ 

“ ’Tis a knowledge I may gather by and by — and thou shalt 
teach me,” he answered, meeting her eye with more than his 
accustomed boldness. 


CHAPTER XIX 


HOW WAYNE KEPT THE PINFOLD 

The marshland beyond Robin Hood’s Well was noisy this 
morning with the shouts of men, the sharp, impatient bark of 
dogs, the shrill bleating of sheep. A warm, lush-hearted day 
of June it was, with a yellow sun rising clear of the flaked 
strips of cloud that hung about the middle blue of heaven, and 
a low wind shaking the budding heather-tips and wrinkling the 
surface of standing pools ; just such a day as fitted a sheep- 
washing, for wind and sun together would be quick to dry the 
fleeces. 

The washing-pools stood a few yards away from the stream 
that ran through Goblin Ghyll, and were no more than deep- 
ish holes dug out of the peat, bottomed and walled with sand- 
stone blocks and rendered water-tight in a measure by lumps 
of marl worked in between the fissures of the stones. A nar- 
row channel, fitted with a sluice-gate at the upper end, con- 
nected the streamway with the pools. On the right hand of 
each pool was a walled enclosure, into which the flocks were 
driven from the moor ; on the left, a similar pinfold received 
the sheep as they were washed, and kept them penned there 
until each batch was ready to be driven off by its own shep- 
herd. 

Altogether, what with vigour of the sun-rays, and leisurely 
haste of loose-limbed shepherd folk, and brisk to-and-froing of 
excited dogs, the scene was a stirring one, contrasting strangely 
with the eerie hush which was wont to hang over this land of 
marsh and peat. Hiram Hey was there, his old heart warmed 
by the abuse, commands and ridicule which he dispensed with 
a free tongue to all comers. Jose the shepherd was there, 
with a kindly eye and a word in season for each particular 
member of his flock. There were other shepherds, too, from 
outlying portions of the Wayne lands, and thick-thewed farm- 
lads, and youngsters no more than elbow-high who, under pre- 
tence of helping to collect the flocks from ofF the moor, tried 

240 


HOW WAYNE KEPT THE PINFOLD 241 


sorely the tempers of the blunt-headed, sagacious sheep-dogs, 
whose manoeuvres were thrice out of four times defeated by 
the interference. 

Well, Hiram, hast getten owt to say agen th’ weather? ” 
said Jose, splashing into the pool. 

Hiram grasped the first of the ewes securely by its fleece, 
and half pushed, half pulled it to the brink. Owt to say 
agen th’ weather ? I should think I hev ! ” he cried. 

thowt as mich, lad. Trust thee to hev thy grumbles, 
choose what,” panted the other, as he took the sheep bodily 
into his arms and plunged it under water. 

“ ’Tis varry weel for ye poor herding folk to thank th’ Lord 
for all this power of sun. But us as hes likelier wark — till- 
ing, tha knaws, an’ sich like — it fair breaks a body’s heart, that 
it does. There’s yond Low Meadow war bahn to yield th’ 
bonniest crop o’ hay iver tha set een on, if we’d nobbut hed a 
sup o’ rain ; an’ now ’tis brown as a penny-piece — ay, fair 
dried i’ th’ sap, it is. But ye poor, shammocky sheep-drivers 
think there’s nowt save ewes an’ tups i’ th’ world.” 

Poor, are we, say’st ’a ? ” snapped the shepherd who was 
working alongside Jose in the pool. 

‘‘ Ay, poor as rattens,” answered Hiram. I alius did say 
a sheep war th’ gaumless-est thing ’at iver went on four legs.” 

There’s folk more gaumless goes on two,” put in Jose ; 

an’ tha’s getten a lob-sided view o’ sheep, Hiram Hey ; tha’s 
all for beasts, an’ bosses, an’ pigs, an’ tha willun’t see ’at sheep 
are that full o’ sense ” 

The shepherd got no further with his speech ; for the ewe 
which was being pushed toward the brink took a wild leap on 
the sudden, and landed fair into his arms before he had got his 
feet well planted on the bottom ; and sheep and man went 
under the grey greasiness that covered the surface of the pool. 

Ay, they’re sensible chaps, is sheep,” said Hiram drily, 
while he watched the shepherd rub the water out of eyes and 
hair. A beast now — nay. I’m thinking a calf wod hev hed 
more wit nor that.” 

‘‘Well, an’ wodn’t tha knock dahn ony chap that framed to 
souse thee ? ” retorted Jose, undaunted still. “ ’Tis nobbut 
one more proof o’ their sperrit. — Theer, lass, theer ! Jose 
noan wants to wrangle wi’ thee — theer, my bonnie — ” His 
voice dropped into inarticulate murmurs as he took a fresh hold 


242 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


of the sheep and fell to rubbing her wool with a long arm and 
a knotty. 

“ Will th’ young Maister be coming up, think ye ? ’’ asked 
a farm-hand by and by. 

He will that, if I knaw him,’’ said Hiram grimly. “ He 
telled me last forenooin he war coming to see ’at ye all kept to 
it. — Now, lads, will ye frame, or mun I come an’ skift ye wi’ 
my foot ? I niver see’d sich a shammocky, loose-set lot o’ 
folk i’ all my days. Tom o’ Thorntop, get them ewes penned, 
dost hear ? Seems tha’d like to keep me ut laking all th’ day 
while tha maks shift to stir thyseln.” 

The work went steadily forward, and soon the pinfolds on 
the far side of each of the two pools were all but full of ewes, 
shivering in their snowy fleeces. Neither did jest and banter 
flag, nor the gruff oaths of the shepherds as they gathered 
their flocks together under Hiram’s wide-reaching eye. 

We mun hev a bit o’ dinner i’ a while,” said Jose at last; 
“ I’m as dry as a peck o’ hay-seeds.” 

I’ll warrant,” growled Hiram, and for sheer contrariness 
went off to see that a new flock was penned ready for the 
washing. 

He gave a glance at the sun as he turned, and another 
across the sweep of peatland. Begow, but it’s bahn to be a 
warm un, is th’ day, afore we’ve done wi’ it,” he muttered. 

Th’ heat-waves fair dance again ower Wildwater way. An’ 
yond grass i’ th’ Low Meadow ’ull be drying as if ye’d clapped 
it i’ an oven. — What, there’s more coming to wesh sheep, is 
there ? They’ll hev to bide. I’m thinking, for a tidy while.” 

“ What’s agate ower yonder, Hiram ? ” called one of the 
shepherds. “ Tha’s getten thy een on summat, by th’ look 
on ye.” 

There’s a big lot o’ sheep coming, though they’re ower far 
off for me to tell who belongs ’em,” said Hiram, shading his 
eyes with both hands. 

Two or three left work and crowded about him. The flock 
came nearer, followed by a press of men on foot and men on 
horseback. 

“ By th’ Heart ! ” cried one. They’re Wildwater sheep, 
yond ; I can see th’ red owning-mark on their backs.” 

“ Ay. Lonks they are, if my een’s gooid for owt,” said 
Hiram. 


HOW WAYNE KEPT THE PINFOLD 243 

No man looked at his neighbour, and none spoke of those 
who rode behind the sheep, though the red-headed horsemen, 
sword on thigh, were twice as plain to be seen as the breed of 
sheep they brought to washing. Silently Hiram and his fel- 
lows returned to work ; silently the RatclifFes rode forward to 
the pinfold walls, while their farm-folk followed with the sheep. 

Red RatclilFe peered over the wall-top of the nearer pin- 
fold, and affected vast surprise at sight of the busy stir within. 
“ What is this, lads ? ” he cried, turning to his kinsfolk. 

‘‘’Twould seem there’s more than one has marked how fair 
a washing day it is,” answered another, showing a like sur- 
prise. They’re not content with one pool, either, but must 
use them both.” 

“ Whose sheep should they be, think ye ? They’re sadly 
lean, once they are rubbed free of dirt,” went on Red Rat- 
cliffe, who seemed to be the leader of the band. 

‘‘ Nay, if there’s aught poor in breed, father it on a Wayne,” 
said the other. 

Red Ratcliffe fixed his eyes on Hiram Hey, who was watch- 
ing the pool with that daft air of simplicity which was his 
staunchest weapon in times of peril. 

‘‘We want to wash our sheep,” said Ratcliffe. 

Hiram lifted his head. “ Oh, ay ? Well, we shall noan 
keep ye long — say till six o’ th’ afternooin,” he answered, and 
resumed his contemplation of the pool. 

“ Six of the afternoon ? ’Tis easy to be seen, sirrah, that 
thou hast a taste for jesting,” said Red Ratcliffe. 

“ We’ve scant time for jests, Maister, an’ I’m telling ye 
plain truth. Ay, we’ll be done by six o’ th’ clock, for sure — 
or mebbe a two-three minutes afore, if these feckless shep- 
herds ’ull bestir theirselns. Jose, what dost tha think? ” 

“ Think ? ” echoed Jose, rubbing hard and fast at the fleece 
of an old bell-wether. “Well, mebbe we shall win through 
by half-after five — but there’s niver no telling.” 

Red Ratcliffe curbed his temper; for he had known many 
moor folk in his time, and this trick of “ shamming gaumless” 
was no new one to him. He changed his key accordingly, 
seeing that his own rough banter would stand no chance 
against Hiram’s subtler wit. 

“ Clear the pens of yond murrain-rotted ewes ; we’ve some 
whole-bodied sheep to wash,” he said peremptorily. 


244 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


‘‘ Clear th’ pens ? ” said Hiram, scratching his head. “ Well, 
we’re framing to clear ’em, fast as iver we can. An’ as for 
th’ ewes — there’s been no murrain among Wayne sheep these 
five year past.” 

‘‘ Cease fooling, thou lousy dotard ! Dost think we’ve come 
all the way from Wildwater only to go back again because we 
find a handful of yokels, belonging to God-know-whom, foul- 
ing the water of the pond ? ” 

Honest muck fouls no pools, an’ I thowt onybody wod hev 
knawn we belonged to Wayne o’ Marsh. Ay, for ye allowed 
as mich a while back — seeing, I warrant, what well-set-up 
chaps we war.” 

Begow, that’s th’ first we’ve heard on ’t fro’ owd Hiram,” 
muttered Jose the shepherd, chuckling soberly as he dipped 
another ewe. 

Ay,” went on Hiram placidly, there’s none denies ’at 
th’ Wayne farm-folk can best ony others i’ th’ moorside.” 

‘‘Tha lees, Hiram Hey ! Man for man, ye’re childer to us 
as warks at Wildwater,” cried one of the RatclilFe yokels, 
gathering courage from the armed force about him. 

Settle that quarrel as best pleases you,” cried Red Rat- 
clifFe sharply ; meanwhile ’tis work, not talk, and if yonder 
pool is not cleared by the time I’ve counted ten — well, there’ll 
be more than sheep dipped in it.” 

Hiram looked at him with a puzzled air. Theer ! ” he 
said. ‘‘ Th’ gentry mun alius hev their little jests, an’ I’ll 
laugh wi’ th’ best, Maister Ratcliffe, when I find myseln a 
thowt less thrang. But orders is orders, th’ world ower, an’ 
when young Maister says ’at a thing’s getten to be done, it’s 
getten to be done.” 

“ Where is your Master ? ” snapped the other. ’Tis a poor 
farmer lies abed while his hinds play.” 

Hiram’s glance was a quick one this time, quenched under 
his rough grey eyebrows as soon as given. So ye thowt he’d 
be here this morn ? ” he said. Nay, he’s noan a lie-abed, 
isn’t th’ Maister, but he’s getten summat else to do.” 

Has he ? And what might that be ? ” said Red Ratcliffe 
softly. 

‘‘Shall I tell him ? ” muttered Hiram, half audibly. Then, 
after a pause of seeming doubt, “ He’s cutting grass i’ th’ Low 
Meadow,” he said. 


HOW WAYNE KEPT THE PINFOLD 245 


“ Cutting grass at this time of year ? ” 

Ay, for sure. Wildwater land ligs cold, an’ ye’re late wi’ 
crops up yonder; but th’ grass lower dahn is running so to 
seed that it war no use letting it bide a day longer. It ’ull be 
poor hay as ’tis, an’ all along o’ this unchristian weather.” 

So he’ll not come to the sheep-washing ? ” broke in Red 
RatclifFe, with a glance at his fellows. 

‘‘ I’ve telled ye so,” said Hiram, an’ telling ye twice 
willun’t better a straight tale.” 

I’m thinking Hiram hes a soft spot i’ his heart for young 
Maister; I’ve niver knawn him tell so thick a lee afore,” mut- 
tered shepherd Jose, as he went forward with his work. 

Red RatclifFe, looking down the streamway and wondering 
whether it were worth while to insist on his claim to the pool, 
laughed suddenly and jerked his bridle-hand in the direction 
of a horseman who had turned the bend of the track below 
and jumped the stream. 

Shameless Wayne will come to the washing after all,” he 
said, and waited, stifF and quiet in the saddle, till Wayne of 
Marsh should cross the half-mile that intervened. 

I war mista’en, seemingly. Th’ Maister mun hev crossed 
straight fro’ th’ grass-cutting,” said Hiram, putting a bold face 
on it to hide a sinking heart. 

The old man turned his back on the Ratcliffes, and his face 
to the upcoming horseman, whose head was thrust low upon 
his shoulders as if some gloomy trend of thought were dulling 
him to all sights and sounds of this fair June day. 

“ I framed weel, an’ I could do no more,” he said to him- 
self ; but sakes, why couldn’t he hev bided a while longer ? 
Th’ RatclifFes ’ud hev been ofF to th’ Low Meadow i’ a twink- 
ling, if I knaw owt. — What’s to be done, like ? He’s a wick 
un to fight, is th’ Maister, but there’s seven o’ these clever 
Dicks fro’ Wildwater, an’ that’s longish odds.” 

Hiram stood for awhile, puzzled and ill-at-ease, watching 
his master draw slowly nearer to the pools ; and then his face 
brightened on the sudden as he shuffled across to where two 
shepherd lads were talking afFrightedly together. 

“ Set your dogs on a two-three sheep, an’ drive ’em down- 
hill, an’ reckon to follow ’em,” he whispered. Then ye’ll 
meet Maister — an’ a word i’ his lug may save him fro’ a deal. 
An’ waste no time, for there’s none to be lossen.” 


246 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


The lads, catching the spirit of it, had already got their 
dogs to work when Red RatclifFe’s voice brought them to a 
sudden halt ; for Ratcliffe, mistrusting fellows of Hiram’s kid- 
ney, had marked his whispering and guessed its purpose. 

Come back, ye farm louts ! ” he cried, and turned to Hiram 
with a sneer. Art fullish of wit, thou think’ st ? Dost mind 
how once before we matched wits, thou and I ? ” 

I mind,” said Hiram. ‘‘’Twas when I told ye where 
th’ Marsh peats war stored — but ye didn’t burn mich wi’ ’em, 
Maister, if I call to mind.” 

Red Ratcliffe laughed at the retort ; for his eyes were on 
the horseman down below, and his mood was almost playful 
now that his prey seemed like to come so tame to hand. 

I’m flaired for th’ Maister this time, that I am,” muttered 
Hiram, as he, too, glanced down the slope ; but being flaired 
niver saved onybody fro’ a bull’s horns, as th’ saying is, so I 
mun just bide still an’ keep my een oppen.” 

The Ratcliffes passed a smile and a jest one to the other as 
they saw Shameless Wayne draw near and marked the heavy 
gloom that rested on him ; for it pleased them that the man 
they loathed should have bitterness for his portion during the 
few moments he had yet to live. 

Wayne did not glance up the moor until he had ridden 
within ten-score yards of them. He half drew rein on see- 
ing the seven red-headed horsemen waiting for him on the 
hill-crest ; and Red Ratcliffe, thinking he meant to turn about, 
was just calling his kinsmen to pursue when he saw Wayne 
drive home his spurs and ride straight up to meet them. 

“ Bide where ye are,” said Red Ratcliffe then. He’s 
courteous as ever, this fool of Marsh, and would not trouble 
us to gallop after him.” 

‘‘ ’Tis like him ; he war alius obstinate as death, an’ wod 
be if th’ Lord o’ Hell stood up agen him,” groaned Jose the 
shepherd, as he left the water and joined the knot of farm- 
folk who stood aloof, expectant, and doubtful for their own 
safety and the Master’s. 

‘‘I give you good-day, Wayne of Marsh,” called Red Rat- 
cliffe. 

‘‘ I shall fare neither better nor worse for the same. What 
would you ?” answered Wayne, halting at thrice a sword’s- 
length from the group. 


HOW WAYNE KEPT THE PINFOLD 247 


Why, we would wash our sheep, and yonder rough- 
tongued hind of thine refused us. So, said I, as I saw you 
riding up the slope, ^ We’ll ask the Master’s leave, and of his 
courtesy he’ll grant it.’ ” 

Shameless Wayne would never stoop to the RatclilFe frip- 
pery of speech. My courtesy takes no account of such as 
ye,” he answered bluntly. 

Think awhile ! ” went on the other gently. ‘‘ These 
pools were made for Waynes and RatclifFes both in the days 
before there was bad blood between us. ’Tis our right as 
well as yours to use it when we will.” 

And when we will. First come, first served. — Come, 
lads, ye’re loitering, and half the sheep are yet unwashed,” he 
broke olF, turning to the farm-men. 

Red Ratcliffe’s face darkened. “ The old wives say, Wayne 
of Marsh, that the first feud sprang up at this very spot, be- 
cause it chanced that the Marsh and the Wildwater ewes came 
on the same day to the washing. I would have no lad’s blood 
on my hands, for my part, so bear the old tale in mind, and give 
us room.” 

Wayne had his sword loose all this time, and his eyes, even 
when they seemed to rove, were never far from Red RatclifFe’s 
movements. ‘‘Your talk, sir, wearies me,” he said. “Ye 
mean to strike, seven against one. — Well, strike ! I’m wait- 
ing for you, with a thought of what chanced once in Marsh- 
cotes kirkyard to keep my blood warm.” 

The RatclifFes were daunted a little by the downright, 
sturdy fashion of the man ; and for a moment they hung 
back, remembering how Wayne of Marsh had met them 
time and again with witchcraft and with resistless sword- 
play. One looked at another, seeking denial of the folly 
which could credit Wayne with power to match the seven of 
them. 

“ Where is the Lean Man to-day ? ’Tis strange he comes 
not to the sheep-washing,” said Wayne of Marsh, as still they 
halted. 

“He would not trouble,” snarled Red RatclifFe. “’Twas 
butchery, he said, for a man of his years to fight with such a 
callow strippling.” 

Wayne smiled with maddening coolness. “ That is a lie, 
RatclifFe the Red. He dared not come. The last I saw of 


248 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


him, he was riding hard — with my sword-point all but in his 
back. Well ? Am I to wait till nightfall for you, or are ye, 
too, minded to turn tail ? ’’ 

Stung by the taunt. Red RatclifFe spurred forward on the 
sudden, and his comrades followed with a yell ; and even sour 
Hiram Hey sent up a half-shamed prayer that the Master might 
come through this desperate pass with safety. Hiram, as a 
practical man and one who dealt chiefly with what he could 
see and handle, was wont to use prayer as the last resource of 
all ; and his furtive appeal was witness that he saw no hope 
of rescue — no hope of respite, even — for his Master. 

But Jose the shepherd had not been idle during that brief 
pause between Wayne’s challenge and the onset of the Rat- 
cliffes. He had watched Hiram’s attempt to send a warning 
down the slope ; and while the storm grew ripe for breaking, 
he bethought him that there were those about Wayne of 
Marsh who might yet serve him at a pinch. To one hand of 
the RatclifFes were the ewes, ten-score or so, which they had 
brought to give colour to their quarrel ; about the shepherd’s 
knees were his two dogs, the canniest brutes in the moorside. 
A few calls from Jose, in a tongue that they had learned in 
puppyhood, a sly pointing of his finger at the RatclifFe sheep, 
and the dogs rushed in among the huddled, bleating mass. 
The sheep were for making ofF across the moor, but Jose the 
shepherd shouted clear above the feud-cries of the RatclifFes, 
and worked his dogs as surely as if this were no more than the 
usual business of the day ; in a moment the flock was headed, 
turned, driven straight across the strip of moor that lay be- 
tween Wayne and his adversaries. 

Quickly done it was, and featly ; and just as the RatclifFes 
swept on to the attack, the ewes ran pell-mell in between their 
horses’ feet. The dogs, wild with their sport, followed after 
and snapped, now at the sheep, now at the legs of the be- 
wildered horses. Two of the Wild water folk were unhorsed 
forthwith ; three others were all but out of saddle, and needed 
all their wits to keep their beasts in hand; and Shameless 
Wayne, watching the turmoil from the hillock where he stood 
firm to meet the onset, laughed grimly as he jerked the curb 
hard down upon his own beast’s jaw. 

‘‘I thowt ’twould unsettle ’em a bittock,” murmured Jose 
the shepherd, stroking his chin contentedly while he watched 


HOW WAYNE KEPT THE PINFOLD 249 


the ewes driven further down the hill, leaving clear room be- 
tween his Master and the rearing horses of the RatclifFes. 

“Dang me, why didn’t I think on ’t myseln ! ” cried Hiram 
Hey. “ It war plain as dayleet, an’ yond owd fooil Jose ’ull 
mak a lot of his cleverness when next he goes speering after 
Martha. Ay, I know him ! — That’s th’ style, Maister ! ” he 
broke off, with a sudden, rousing shout. “ In at ’em, an’ 
skift ’em afore they’ve fund their seats again.” 

Wayne had seen his chance, and taken it ; and now he was 
riding full tilt at the enemy, over the pair of fallen horsemen. 
Red Ratclilfe cut at him in passing, and missed ; the rest were 
overbusy with their horses to do more than raise a clumsy 
guard; Wayne galloped clean through them, swirling his blade 
to the right hand and the left, and in a breathing-space, so it 
seemed to Hiram and the shepherd, the free moor and safety 
lay before him. 

“ Now, God be thanked, he’s through, is th’ lad ! ” cried 
Hiram. “ Lord Harry, he swoops an’ scampers fair like a 
storm-wind out o’ th’ North.” 

But W ay ne would not take the plain road of flight ; partly 
his blood was up, and partly he feared for the safety of his 
farm-hinds if he left them to play the scapegoat to these red- 
headed gentry. He wheeled about, and the discomfited horse- 
men, seeing him bear down a second time, were mute with 
wonder. But their fury was keen sharpened now; they 
glanced at the two fallen riders, trampled beneath Wayne’s 
hoofs ; they heard one of their comrades cursing at a wound 
that Wayne had given him as he rode through ; a moment 
only they halted for surprise, and then, with a deafening yell 
of Ratcliff'e ! they closed in a ring about him. 

“ Five to one now. Come, the odds lessen fast,” cried 
Wayne, as he pulled up and seemed to wait their onset. 

But he knew that flight was hopeless if he let the full com- 
pany attack him front and rear. One glance he snatched 
at the open moor behind, and one at the walled enclosure 
where the sheep had lately been herded for the washing. 

“ God’s life. I’ll trick them yet,” he muttered, and reined 
sharp about, outwitting them, and rode hard as hoofs could 
kick up the peat toward the shelter of the walls. 

“ Is he a Jack-o’-Lanthorn, this fool from Marsh ? ” 
growled Red RatclifFe, foiled a second time. 


250 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


He thought that Wayne was trusting to his horsemanship, 
that he would double and retreat and glance sideways each 
time they made at him in force, hoping to get a blow in as 
occasion offered. But Wayne of Marsh had no such idle 
play in mind ; he was seeking only for sure ground on which 
to stand and meet them one by one. He had marked the 
opening in the pinfold through which the sheep were driven, 
and he knew that, if he could once gain the wall, the battle 
would narrow to a run of single contests. 

They saw his aim too late ; and as Red Ratcliffe swerved 
and swooped on him, Wayne backed his horse with its flanks 
inside the pinfold. He had four stout walls behind him now ; 
the uprights of the gateway were no more than saddle-high, 
and above them he had free space for arm and sword-swing. 
It was one against five still — but each of the five must wait 
his turn, and each must fare alone against the blade which, to 
the Ratcliffe fancy, was a live, malignant thing in the hand of 
this witch-guarded lad of Marsh. 

Again the red-heads fell back, while the Marsh farm-folk, 
roused by the Master’s pluck, sent up a ringing cheer. And 
Shameless Wayne, who had chafed under long weeks of farm- 
ing, laughed merrily to feel his sword-hilt grafted to his hot 
right hand again, to know that he had cut off retreat and that 
five skilled swordsmen were at hand to give him battle. 

‘‘God rest you, sirs. Wayne and the Dog are waiting,” 
he cried, and laughed anew to mark how they shrank from 
the old battle-cry. 

But Red Ratcliffe, seeing his brave scheme like to go the 
way of other schemes as promising, lost doubts and shrinking 
on the sudden. Man to man, he was Wayne’s equal, and 
this time he would settle old scores — would go back to the 
Lean Man with his tale, and claim Janet as the fruit of vic- 
tory. A thought of the girl’s beauty ran across his mind, a 
swift, unholy sense that it would be sweeter to take her thus, 
unwilling and by force, than if she had consented to his woo- 
ing ; and the thought steadied heart and nerve, while it lent 
him fierce new strength. No cry he gave, but made straight 
at Wayne and cut across his head-guard. Wayne shot his 
blade up, withdrew it, and thrust keenly forward ; and Rat- 
cliffe parried ; and after that the fight ran hot and swift. 

Steel met steel ; the blades hissed, and purred, and shiv- 


HOW WAYNE KEPT THE PINFOLD 251 


ered ; up and down, in and out, the blue-grey lightning ran. 
The men’s breath came hard, their eyes were red with proph- 
ecy of blood ; their faces, that in peace showed many a subtle 
difference of breeding and of courtesy, were strangely like 
now, set to a strained fierceness, the veins upstanding tight as 
knotted whipcord. Sons of the naked Adam, they fought 
with gladdening fury ; and the naked beast in them rose up 
and snarled between clenched, gleaming teeth. Their very 
horses — that are full as men of niceties overlaid by breeding — 
went back to their old savagery, and bit one at the other, and 
added their shrill cries to the men’s raucous belly-breaths. 

The farm-folk held their breath and watched. The Rat- 
cliffes, clustered in a little knot, followed each steel-ripple, 
each cut and counter-cut, and forgot for the moment to take 
sides from very love of swordsmanship. And then Wayne 
knocked the other’s blade high up in air, and would have 
had him through the breast had Red Ratcliffe not jerked his 
left hand on the curb and dragged his horse round into safety. 
Wayne could not pursue, even had he been minded to leave 
his shelter, for another Ratcliffe was on him now, offering 
fight as stubborn as the first. 

My breath will fail,” thought Wayne, and redoubled the 
swiftness of his blows, and cut his man deep through the rib- 
bones. 

But there were three left yet, and Red Ratcliffe, smarting 
under his defeat, had brought guile to help him where force 
had failed. While the sword-din began afresh, and again 
Wayne settled to the desperate conflict. Red Ratcliffe got to 
ground, picked up the sword that had been ripped from out 
his grasp, and crept softly to the far edge of the pinfold. 

‘^’Tis child’s play, after all,” he thought. Lord, how 
the rogue fights, with never a thought that he can be taken 
in the rear.” 

Wayne — forcing the battle with all his might, lest breath 
should fail — could get no nearer to his man as yet ; and mean- 
while Red Ratcliffe had gained the wall behind him and was 
throwing one leg over. 

‘‘ He cannot keep it up, can’t th’ lad,” murmured Hiram 
Hey. ‘‘ Sakes, I’ve a mind to run in myseln an’ do summat 
— though I mun be crazy to think on ’t. — Hallo, what’s 
agate wi’ Red Ratcliffe ? He looks pleased-like, an’ he’s get- 


252 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


ten ofF his horse. Oh, that’s it, is’t ? Well, I can do a bit 
o’ summat, happen, after all.” 

Hiram moved briskly up to the pinfold and reached the 
hinder wall just as Red RatclifFe was climbing over it 5 he set 
a pair of arms about his middle, as he had done to one of the 
Wildwater farm-folk not long ago, and put his muscle into the 
lift, and brought his enemy with a thud on to the peat five 
yards away. 

Fair play’s a jewel ye’ve niver learned th’ price on at 
Wildwater,” he said quietly. “Ye war for sticking th’ Mais- 
ter i’ th’ back, as ye could no way meet him i’ front ? Well, 
there’s two opinions about ivery matter, an’ mine’s th’ reet un 
this time. I’m thinking. ’Twar a Providence, it war, that 
yond hind o’ thine came in to th’ Friendly tavern yesterneet ; 
he braced me fine for hoicking feather-weights ower my 
shoulder, like.” 

The shepherds looked at Hiram, and then at Red RatclifFe, 
who was lifting himself in dazed sort to a sitting posture ; it 
was plain they needed but the one word to close round and 
stamp the life out of this treacherous hound who could aim to 
strike from behind when Wayne had proved his match in 
open fight. But Hiram had an old grievance to straighten — 
a grievance that had rankled ever since Red RatclifFe inter- 
rupted his courtship on a long-dead day of spring — and he 
paid no heed to his comrades’ meaning glances. 

“ So, Maister ; ye fooiled me once on a time, as ye called 
to mind just now — an’ now I’ve fooiled ye,” said Hiram, 
stroking his frill of beard and watching Red RatclifFe’s lower- 
ing face. 

“ And, by Wayne’s cursed Dog, the third time shall pay for 
all,” snapped the other, making a second efFort to stand up- 
right. 

“ Mebbe, but I’m fain to hev squared th’ reckoning, choose 
what comes. Ay, it war grand, warn’t it, to get Hiram Hey 
to tell ye how mich ling an’ bracken there war at Marsh, an’ 
th’ varry spot it war stored in ? Ye went home fetching a 
rare crack o’ laughter. I’ll be bound, an’ ye came that varry 
neet to mak use o’ what I telled ye. What, ye’re dizzy sick ? 
An’ I’m laughing. An’ that’s how th’ world alius wags wi’ 
them as thinks to best Hiram Hey.” 

Red RatclifFe shook ofF his dizziness, and snatched a dagger 


HOW WAYNE KEPT THE PINFOLD 253 


from his belt. Thou foul-mouthed sot, Pll teach thee to 
set thyself against thy betters,” he cried. 

Hiram stood, sturdy and stiff; he knew there was little 
chance for him, but still he hoped to come to grips with his 
assailant and crush his ribs in before he could compass a clean 
stroke with the dagger. He feared the upshot not at all, and 
even as he waited he smiled in his old sour fashion to think 
that he had settled his own private cause of quarrel with Red 
RatclifFe. The wind, freshening from the west, brought up a 
sound of shouting with it; but Hiram had no eyes for what 
was chancing on the far side of the pinfold. 

Begow, I shall niver be wedded now to Martha,” he 
thought ; a chap can go too slow, ’twould seem. Ay, well, 
I shall be saved a power o’ worry, doubtless, an’ wedlock’s 
noan all cakes an’ ale, they say. But, lord, I’d right weel hev 
liked to try it for myseln.” 

The fight at the pinfold was waxing keener all the while ; 
but Shameless Wayne was hard-pressed now, and the first 
twinges of arm-tiredness were cramping his strokes a little. 
Yet his laugh rang deep as ever, and the sweetness of each 
stroke was doubled, since each must be near his last. One 
thought only held him, and that was a thought of pride — 
pride that he would die in the mid-day open, fighting the old 
Wayne battle. 

He gives, he gives ! ” cried one of the two horsemen who 
were left to take their turn. 

“Does he give?” panted Wayne, and made the quick 
cross-cut, following a straight lunge, which his father had 
taught him long ago. 

The stroke told, and his opponent’s bridle-arm dropped 
heavy to his side ; but still he fought on, and still his com- 
rades watched, eager to take his place the moment he fell back. 
Then Wayne was touched on the neck, and again on the 
side, just as Red Ratcliffe roused himself to leap on Hiram 
Hey. 

Shameless Wayne in front, and Hiram, with whom he had 
waged many a stubborn contest, on the far side of the pinfold 
— it seemed that master and man would go out of life to- 
gether, each dauntless, each proud in his own hard way, each 
ready, doubtless, to turn on the further shore of Death and 
take up some interrupted quarrel touching farm-matters — yet 


254 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


each dying because he had stayed to save the other when flight 
had been full easy. 

Shepherd Jose, not caring to see such matters as he knew 
must follow, turned a pair of dim eyes down the slope, and 
started, and clutched his neighbour by the arm. 

‘‘ In time — by th’ Heart, in time ! ’’ he cried. 

As if in answer to him, a swift, clear shout came up the 
moor, over the sun-bright sweep of ling. 

“ Wayne and the Dog, Hold to it, Ned ! Hold to it.” 

Wayne knew the boyish voices, and his heart leaped, but he 
dared not let his eyes wander until the cry had been thrice re- 
peated, until his adversary had given back for dread of the 
new foe. Red Ratcliffe, at the same moment, stopped half 
toward Hiram Hey, turning his eyes on the upcoming horse- 
men j then he raced for his horse, and sprang to saddle, and 
joined his hesitating band of comrades. 

Begow, that’s a let-ofF, an’ proper,” said Hiram Hey, 
scarce comprehending yet that he was safe. 

For a moment a silence as of night held the RatclifFes, 
while they watched the four Wayne lads charge gaily up the 
slope, plucking their swords free of the scabbard as they 
rode. 

On to them ; they’ll break at the first onset,” muttered 
Red Ratcliffe, and galloped down to meet them. 

For the first time Shameless Wayne’s heart grew soft and 
his nerve weak. They were over young, these lads who had 
been left to his care, to fight with grown men ; what if one 
of them were slain in saving the life he had gladly given up a 
while since ? But that passed \ breathing again, he felt new 
strength in his arm, and as he crashed headlong in at the rear 
of the down-sweeping band, he swore that this thing should 
not be. 

Wayne and the Dog!” cried GrifF, as he made at the 
foremost RatclifFe. 

‘‘ Wayne and the Dog I ” roared Ned from the rear, and 
cleft the nearest Ratcliffe through the skull. And even as he 
wrenched his blade free, he laughed to mark with what elderly 
and sober glee these youngsters waged their maiden battle. 

Front and rear the RatclifFes were taken. Confused, hard 
pressed on every side, their blows grew wilder and more flurried. 
But still they held to it, and Wayne’s four brothers had cause 


HOW WAYNE KEPT THE PINFOLD 255 


to thank the hard, monotonous hours they had spent in learning 
tricks of fence. 

All was changed on the sudden. There had been quick 
breathing of striving swordsmen, and quiet, deep breaths of 
silent watchers — a quiet which Hiram Hey’s conflict at the far 
side of the pinfold had scarce ruffled. But now it seemed as 
if Bedlam had let loose a second strife of tongues. The 
farm-men, maddened by the sight of blows, ran in at one an- 
other and fought for Wildwater or for Marsh. The dogs 
played Merry-Andrew with the sheep, and scattered them wide 
across the moor, and still pursued them. Cries of men, bleat- 
ing of bewildered ewes, wild barking of dogs a-holydaying — 
and then, clear above all. Griff’s shrill cry, They flee, they 
tiee ! ” — and after that three flying horsemen steering a zig- 
zag course through sheep and dogs and wrestling farm-folk. 

And over all was the splendour of the mid-day sun, the wind 
among the ling, the deep, unalterable silence that lies forever 
at the moor’s heart, whether men live or die, whether they 
fight or drink in peace together. Only the plover heeded the 
swift fight, and screamed their plaudits to the victors. 


CHAPTER XX 


HOW THEY WAITED AT THE BOUNDARY-STONE 

Red Ratcliffe, and the two who had come through the 
fight with him, checked their headlong gallop when at last the 
pursuit died far in their wake. Their shoulders were bunched 
forward, their heads downcast ; and not till the surly pile of 
Wildwater showed half a league from them across the moor 
did they break silence. 

“ There’ll be a queer welcome for us from the Lean Man,” 
said one. 

Ay, he’ll shake off his palsy when we come to him with 
the tale of four men left behind us,” answered Red Ratcliffe 
gloomily. Lord, how his lip will curl ! And his eyes will 
prick one like a sword-point, cold and bright and grey. And 
he’ll flay our tempers raw with gibes.” 

Still, there’s but one of the four killed outright ; and when 
those boggart-shielded Waynes have left, we can return to 
help the wounded. They’ll not butcher them, think’st thou ? ” 

‘‘ Nay,” sneered the third ; ’tis part of their foul pride to 
play the woman after victory. Like as not they’ll set them 
on some grassy hillock, with a wall to shield the sun from 
them, and give them drink, and nurse them into health against 
the next fight.” 

‘‘ Nay, a month ago they would have done as much ; but 
now ? I doubt it,” said Red Ratcliffe. “ We’ve roughened 
Wayne at last, and I never knew what flint there was under 
his courteous softness till I crossed blades with him just now.” 

“ And yond four lads have had their first taste of blood. 
I’ve known boys do at such times what hardened men would 
shrink from.” 

“ Well, they will kill the wounded, or they will not. ’Tis 
done by this time, and we can have no say in it,” put in Red 
Ratcliffe. “ Od’s life, lads, I relish the look of Wildwater less 
the nearer we approach it,” he added, reining in his horse. 

What brought the lads up ? Had they winded our ap- 
256 


WAITED AT THE BOUNDARY-STONE 257 

proach, or was it just the old Wayne luck ? ” said one of his 
comrades, halting likewise. Marry, there’ll be an empty 
house at Marsh. What if we ride down before the Master’s 
coming and fire the dwelling from roof to cellar ? ” 

Red RatclifFe glanced quickly at him. There’s time for 
it, if we ride at once,” he muttered ; and something we 
must do for shame’s sake.” 

There’ll be his sister there,” said another, with a laugh ; 
‘‘ trim Mistress Nell, who gives us such open scorn whenever 
we cross her path. She shall take scorn for scorn, full meas- 
ure, if I get within reach of her mouth. Come, lads, let’s do 
it ! Burn them out, and carry the girl to Wildwater.” 

A craftiness crept into Red RatclifFe’s face — a craftiness that 
showed him an apt pupil of the Lean Man’s. ‘‘We’ll waste 
no time on burning, lest Wayne and his cursed Dog come 
back while yet we’re gathering fuel,” he broke in. “ But 
we’ll ride down and snatch the girl, and take her up to Wild- 
water. Ay, and we’ll lay no rough hand on her till Wayne 
has learned her capture.” 

They nodded eagerly. “ We shall save our credit yet. By 
the Heart, not Nicholas himself could have hatched a bonnier 
plot,” they cried. 

“ Ay, the game is ours,” went on Red RatclifFe slowly, as 
they turned and rode at the trot for Marsh. “ Those four 
ill-gotten youngsters have saved him, he thinks — but he shall 
find that they have killed him twice over by leaving Marsh 
unguarded. — The fool shall die once in his body and once in 
the pride that’s meat and bread to him. Hark ye ! We’ll 
send down word that his sister is held at Wildwater, and he 
will come galloping up and batter at the gates, all in his hot 
way, with never a care of danger. We’ll take him alive, and 
bring our dainty Mistress Nell into the room where he lies 
bound — and there’s a sure way then, methinks, of racking his 
brain to madness before we pay him, wound for wound, for 
what he’s done to us.” 

His fellows drew back a little for a moment ; the cool, 
stark devilry of the plot shamed even them, who had dwelt 
with the Lean Man and never hitherto found cause to blush. 
Then the thought of their defeat returned on them, and 
their hearts hardened, and they offered no word of protest or 
denial. 


258 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


From time to time, as they rode, the leader of the enter- 
prise laughed quietly ; from time to time he thought of some 
fresh subtlety whereby Wayne’s anguish would be sharpened; 
but not until they had covered half the road to Marsh did he 
break silence. A little figure of a woman, with corn-bright 
hair and delicate, round face, was standing in the roadway, 
shading her eyes to look across the moor. 

’Tis the mad woman they keep at Marsh,” said Red Rat- 
clifFe lightly. ‘‘We aimed once before at the Wayne honour 
through their women. The omen speeds our journey.” 

Mistress Wayne started as they came up with her, and 
turned to fly, but saw the folly of it. Keeping her place, she 
eyed them with the watchful, mute entreaty of a bird held fast 
within the fowler’s net. Something in her helplessness sug- 
gested to Red RatclifFe that he might find a use for her ; the 
weak, to his mind, were fashioned by a kindly Providence to 
fetch and carry for the strong, and haply this mad creature 
might aid him to get Nell Wayne to Wildwater. Turning 
the fancy over in his mind, he stopped to question her. 

“Well, pretty light-of-love ? What wast gazing at so ear- 
nestly when we came up ? ” he asked. 

She answered quietly, with a touch of frightened dignity in 
her voice. “ I heard the sound of cries and shouting far 
across the heath awhile since, and I feared there was trouble 
to my friends.” 

“A right fear, too. There has been trouble, and your 
friends have just learned a bloody lesson from us. Mistress,” 
said Red RatclifFe, for mere zest in seeing her wince. 

“ Oh, sir, they are not slain ? Tell me that they are safe. 
— Nell was right,” she went on, talking fast as if to herself ; 
“ she would send her brothers to help him at the washing- 
pools instead of hawking. — Why did we let him ride alone so 
near to Wildwater ? — They reached the pools too late. — Ah, 
God ! and the one friend I had is gone.” Again she turned 
her eyes full on Red RatclifFe. “ Is he dead, sir ? ” she asked 
wearily. 

A sudden thought came to him. “ Not dead. Mistress, but 
dying fast,” he answered. “Thou know’st the boundary-stone 
over yonder, where once he laid a RatclifFe hand in mockery ? 
Well, we met him there not long since as he rode to the 
sheep-washing, and I thrust him through the side. — Peace, 


WAITED AT THE BOUNDARY-STONE 259 

woman ! Thou may’st help him yet to a little ease before he 
dies.” 

“ Yes, yes, I will go to him. At the boundary-stone, you 
said ” 

‘‘ ’Tis not thou he cries for, but his sister. See ye, we’re 
hard folk, and take a hard vengeance, but now that Wayne 
has paid his price we do not grudge him such a light request 
— and were, indeed, riding down to bid his sister come to him.” 

She passed a hand across her eyes, while RatclifFe’s fellows 
glanced at him with frank amazement. 

’Twas Nell, not I, he asked for? ” she said. ‘‘ Are you 
sure, sir, that my name did not pass his lips ? ” 

Sure, quite sure. Pish ! We’ve taken trouble enough, 
and now we’ll leave thee to it. Go thyself if it pleases thee 
— but thou’lt rob the dying of his last wish if thou dost not 
hurry straight to Marsh and bring his sister to the boundary- 
stone.” 

She halted a moment, then went with slow steps down the 
highway. And he who rode on RatclilFe’s left turned ques- 
tioningly to him. 

What fool’s game is this ? ” he asked. 

‘‘ Nay, ’tis a wise man’s game, thou dullard. I tell thee, 
^ Wayne may come straight home to Marsh, and meet us; 
we’ll run no hazard that can be escaped. Nay, by God ! 
This little want-wit will do our work for us, and bring Mis- 
tress Nell three parts of the way without our lifting hand or 
foot — and think how that will lighten one of our saddle- 
cruppers. We have Wayne safe, I tell thee, and we’ll risk 
naught.” 

Mistress Wayne was out of sight now, carrying a heart 
that was heavier for the knowledge that Ned had no thought 
of her in his last hour. A strange jealousy had wakened in her ; 
why should it be Nell, not she, who was to soothe him at the 
last ? She had loved him, surely, better than any friend he 
had — and now it was Nell, Nell only, whom he wanted. 
Well, she would bring her. 

Not for the first time did this frail woman wonder bitterly 
why she had been doomed to return to her right mind ; yet 
never, amid all the remorse that had followed her awakening, 
had she felt one half the numbing sense of loneliness that 
went with her now. 


26 o 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


He is gone/’ she repeated for the twentieth time, as she 
went over Worm’s Hill, and down Barguest Lane, and in at 
the Marsh gateway. 

Hiram Hey, meanwhile, had returned from pursuit of the 
RatclifFe farm-folk to find that his betters likewise had given 
up the chase as hopeless. The four lads, indeed, would have 
ridden to the gates of Wildwater had not Shameless Wayne 
compelled them to turn back j and now they were gathered 
round the washing pool, chattering like magpies, while the 
yokels straggled back in twos and threes, and the dogs 
returned to their masters with frolic in one eye and shamed 
expectancy of rebuke in the other. The moor was dotted 
white with sheep, some standing in bewildered groups, some 
browsing on the butter-grass that grew at the fringes of the 
bogs. Wayne of Marsh was eyeing his brothers with a fatherly 
sort of care, seeking for wounds on them before he dressed his 
own. 

What, not a scratch on you ? ” he asked in wonder. 

Griff bared his left arm with ill-concealed pride and showed 
a deepish cut. “ ’Tis no more than a scratch, Ned. I took 
it from Red RatclifFe,” he laughed. 

And then his brothers, not to be outdone, showed many a 
trivial scar, which they had gleaned amid the give-and-take of 
blows. 

Thank God, it is no worse,” said Wayne huskily. I 
should never have found heart, lads, to go back to Nell if one 
among you had been lost. — There ! Wash them in the stream, 
and dust them well with peat — and, faith. I’ll join you, for my 
own hurts begin to prick.” 

The streamway all about the pools was fouled by the tramp- 
ling of dogs and sheep, of farm-men and rough-ridden horses, 
and the brothers moved further up the stream to find clean 
water for their wounds. As they passed the far side of the 
pinfold, their eyes fell upon the fallen RatclifFes, unheeded 
until now in the turmoil. One was dead, his skull splintered 
by a hoof-stroke ; the other three lay with their faces to the 
pitiless sun, and groaned. 

Wayne was harder than of yore; yet he could not let them 
lie there in their agony until the sun, festering their wounds, 
had made them ready for the corbie-crows already circling 
overhead. He stood awhile, looking down on them; and 


WAITED AT THE BOUNDARY-STONE 261 


one, less crippled than his fellows, rose on his elbow and spat 
on him. 

Let me kill him, Ned — let me kill him ! ” cried GrifF, in 
a voice that was like a man’s for depth. 

Ned glanced at this youngster’s face, and he remembered 
what his own blood-lust had been when he fought his first 
great battle in Marshcotes kirkyard, and bade them roof three 
fallen RatclifFes over with the vault-stone. For it was as 
Red RatclifFe had said ; the fight was hot still in this lad, and 
he shrank from naught. 

Wayne set a hand on GrifPs shoulder and forced him to- 
ward the stream. ‘‘ Ay, lad, I know,” he said quietly ; but 
thou’lt think better of it in awhile. — Set these rogues under 
shade of yonder bank,” he broke ofF, turning to the shepherds ; 

take their daggers from them first, for they have a shrewd 
way of repaying kindness ; and then look ye to their hurts.” 

“ We’ve hed a fullish day, Maister, I reckon,” said Hiram 
Hey, going up the stream beside them and standing with his 
arms behind his back while he watched the brothers bind each 
other’s wounds. 

Ay,” said the Master grimly, ‘‘ and ’twill be work till 
sundown, Hiram, if we’re to make up for time lost.” 

Hiram opened his mouth wide. ‘‘ What ? Ye mean to 
get forrard wi’ th’ sheep-weshing ? At after what we’ve gone 
through ? ” 

Wayne nodded. ‘‘ The lads here have come to learn how 
farm-work goes,” he said ; and would’st thou teach them 
only how to idle through a summer’s afternoon ? ” 

Nay, it beats me. Nay, your father war nowt, just now 
at all, to what ye are,” murmured Hiram, scratching his rough 
head. — “ Isn’t it a tempting o’ Providence, like, to wark 
i’stead o’ giving praise that ye’ve come safe through all ? ” he 
added, under a happy inspiration. 

Wayne laughed. Work is praise, Hiram, as thou told’st 
me once, I mind, when I was idling as a lad. See how thy 
old lessons stick to me.” He turned to Jose the shepherd. 
‘‘ Get yond Wildwater sheep gathered,” he said ; they’ll 
stray back to their own pastures if thou’rt not quick with 
them. And when the day’s work is over, bring them to the 
Low Farm, and we’ll put a Wayne owning-mark on their 
backs — for, by the Rood, I think we’ve won them fairly.” 


262 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


Lord, Lord, I may be no drinker — but I could sup two 
quarts of ale, an’ niver tak two breaths,” said Hiram Hey for- 
lornly. 

Again Wayne laughed as he clapped him on the back. 

Come to Marsh, Hiram — and all of you — at supper-time 
to-night ; and ye shall have old October till ye swim, to drink 
to these stiff lads who plucked us out of trouble.” 

That’s sense — ay, he talks sense at last, does th’ Mais- 
ter,” murmured Hiram. Then, bethinking him that it would 
never do, for his credit’s sake, to show himself in anything 
more backward than the Master, he began forthwith to rate 
the farm-hands with something of his old-time vigour. 

And soon the pinfolds on either hand were full again of 
bleating sheep, and Jose and his brother shepherds were scrub- 
bing hard in each of the two pools, and a chance passer-by 
could not have told, save for broken faces here and there, that 
a half-hour since these leisurely moving folk had been fighting 
hand-to-hand for the honour of their house. 

And so it chanced that Wayne, who might have been saved 
many a heart-ache had he ridden straight home to Marsh, as 
any man less obstinate would have done, was still at the wash- 
ing-pool when his step-mother got back to Marsh. She had 
found Nell at the spinning-wheel, and had told her tale ; and 
the girl had sat motionless for awhile, her head bowed over 
the yellow flax, her hands clenched tight together. 

‘‘You are our evil angel. Mistress,” she said, looking up 
at last. “ Since first you set foot on our threshold, disaster 
has followed on disaster. But for you father would be 
alive — ” 

“ Nell, spare me ! Do I not know, do I not know ? ” 

But Nell was pitiless. The news so rudely broken to her 
had brought a twelvemonth’s hidden bitterness to the front, 
and she would not check it. “ But for you the feud would 
have slept itself away — but for you Ned would be sitting at 
table yonder. — Mistress, how dared you come first to tell me 
of it ? — Nay, hold your tears, for pity’s sake ; they’ll bring no 
lives back.” 

The girl rose, and would have gone out, but her step- 
mother stood in front of her, lifting up her hands in piteous 
entreaty. 

“ Nell, I want — I want to go with you j I loved him, too, 


WAITED AT THE BOUNDARY-STONE 26 


and I think he’ll be glad to see me at the last — if — if he’s not 
dead by this.” 

You want to go with me ? My faith, I’ll seek other com- 
pany, or go alone,” flashed Nell, and left her there. 

Mistress Wayne had found a certain fluttering courage 
nowadays ; see Ned she would and claim a farewell from him, 
without leave from Nell. The girl would not share her com- 
pany ; but the road was free to her — the road that led to the 
Wildwater boundary-stone. She waited only for a moment, 
then followed Nell whose figure she could see boldly outlined 
against the sweep of still, blue sky that lay across the top of 
Barguest Lane. 

“ I have brought disaster to them ; yes, ’tis very true,” 
she mused all along the bare white road. 

The girl had far outstripped her by this time ; but she 
caught sight of her again, a long mile ahead, as Nell topped 
the hill at whose feet the boundary-stone was set. Full of 
eagerness to know the worst. Mistress Wayne quickened 
pace, though her feet ached and her head throbbed pain- 
fully. It seemed this ling-bordered stretch of road would 
never end. 

She gained the hill-top where she had last seen Nell, and 
glanced down in terror-stricken search of the body lying in 
the hollow ; but naught met her eyes, save an empty road 
winding into empty space. Nor did a nearer view dispel the 
mystery : the boundary-stone stood gaunt, flat-topped and 
black, in the hot sunlight ; the sand of the roadway was dis- 
ordered as if a plunging horse had scattered it with hoof-play ; 
but that was all. 

Where was Ned ? He lay beside the boundary-stone, those 
evil folk from Wildwater had told her. Yet there was no 
blood upon the ground, nor the least sign to tell her that a 
man had been done to death here. Nell, too, was gone, com- 
pletely as if the road had yielded, bog-like, to her tread and 
closed about her. Only the sad cries of moor-birds broke 
the stillness — these, and the far-off echo of horse-hoofs pound- 
ing over a stony track. 

Mistress Wayne sat her down at the roadside, among the 
budding heather. A great faintness stole over her ; she felt 
her new-found hold on life slipping from her grasp. What 
had chanced to Wayne ? Where was Nell ? Was this some 


264 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


fresh delusion, nursed by the sun-heat and her hurried walk ? 
She could not tell — only, she knew that the grey line of road 
was circling round her, that the sky seemed closing in. 

I — brought — disaster,” she murmured, and let her head 
fall back among the heather. 


CHAPTER XXI 


WHAT CHANCED AT WILDWATER 

The Lean Man was sunning himself in the garden at Wild- 
water, and Janet, sitting beside him, wondered afresh to see 
the dumb air he had, as of one who had crept from the tram- 
pling life of men and had no thought to return to it. 

The old trouble has left you, sir, to-day. Is it not so ? ” 
she said gently, chafing his cold hands in hers. 

Ay, it has left me, girl, for a little while. But the sun 
has no warmth in it, and the bees’ hum sounds dead and hol- 
low. Look ye, Janet, this is not summer at all ; ’tis like an 
old man stammering love-vows and wondering why they 
sound so cold. — Are our folk hunting to-day ? ” 

Some of them have gone to wash the sheep. They said 
they would be home betimes, but the afternoon wears on.” 

If I were young again, lass ! Sorrow of women, if only 
I were young again ! ” broke in the Lean Man. ‘^To hunt 
the fox, and see the sheep come white and bleating from the 
pool, and feel the old gladness in it all.” He fell back mood- 
ily into his seat. A man has his day,” he muttered, and 
mine is over.” 

He raised his eyes languidly as the garden gate opened and 
Red RatclifFe and his two companions came laughing through. 

We’ve news, sir, for you,” cried Red RatclifFe. 

The Lean Man looked them up and down, and smiled with 
something of his old keenness, as he saw the stains of fight on 
them. ‘‘ Ay, I can believe it,” he said. Bonnie news, I 
fancy, of Wayne and of those who thought to crush him when 
Nicholas RatclifFe had failed. A wounded bridle-arm, a mat- 
ter of two bloody cheek-cuts, and thy right thigh, lad, drip- 
ping through the cloth. Ye make a gallant band.” 

’Tis true, sir, he worsted us in fight,” said Red RatclifFe, 
sulkily. 

The blood came back to Janet’s face. Again he shows 
265 


266 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


the stronger hand/’ she murmured. Who says that Wayne 
of Marsh is unfit to have a maid’s heart in keeping ? ” 

‘‘ He worsted you/’ said the Lean Man to his grandsons ; 
‘‘ is that why ye came with laughter in your throats, and 
mouths a-grin as if a man had ploughed a furrow ’cross them ? ” 

‘‘Nay, but because we used our wits when swords failed us, 
and trapped Wayne’s sister; she is in the house now, safe 
under lock and key.” 

The Lean Man roused himself. “ A good stroke, lads ! ” 
he cried, slapping his thigh. “ She’s in the house, ye say ? 
Then take me to her.” 

“You had best go armed to talk with her,” laughed he 
whose cheek was cut; “ shame will out, sir, and I took these 
wounds, not from Wayne, but from the she-devil I carried 
hither on my crupper.” 

“ Good lass ! ” chuckled old Nicholas. “ I like that sort of 
temper. She carries a dagger, then, to help keep up the 
feud ? ” 

“ She snatched my own from its sheath, and pricked me 
twice before I guessed her purpose. And all because I stooped 
my face to kiss her.” 

“ ’Tis just what thou’d’st have done, Janet ; eh, lass ? Me- 
thinks thou’lt pair with this hot wench from Marsh,” said the 
Lean Man, laying a jesting hand on the girl’s shoulder. 

“We shall pair ill, I fear,” she answered coldly, — “ as for 
the dagger-stroke — I should have aimed nearer the heart, 
grandfather,” she added, glancing hardily at Red RatclifFe. 

“ Thy aim for a man’s heart is always very sure,” her cousin 
answered, meeting her glance good-humouredly. 

“Tut-tut! Thou’rt indifferent clumsy as a wooer, lad — 
but, by the Lord, thou hast a head for scheming. What, 
then ? We’ve got the lass, and Wayne will follow.” 

“ That was my thought, sir. We’ll let him bide awhile — 
till sundown, say — and then, just as his anxiousness on Mis- 
tress Nell’s behalf is getting past bearing, we will send word 
that she is here, with a broad hint or so of what will chance 
to her before the dawn ” 

“ Ay, ay,” broke in the Lean Man, “ and he’ll come, if I 
know him, as if his horse were shod with wind ; and I’ll brace 
my stiffened sinews once again ; and an old sore shall be cured 
for good and all.” 


WHAT CHANCED AT WILDWATER 267 


Will the Brown Dog carry its master through this pass, 
think ye ? ” cried Red Ratcliffe boastfully. 

The Lean Man’s eagerness died swift as it had come. His 
hard lips shrank into senile curves. The dulness of a great 
terror clouded his hawk-bright eyes. 

The Dog ? The Dog ? ” he mumbled, at the end of a 
long silence. Ay, thou fool, ’twill conquer as aforetime. 
Useless, useless, I tell thee ! The girl is here — well, he will 
find a way to rescue her.” 

But, sir, this is folly ! What can he do with a score men 
waiting here for him ? ” 

What he did at Dead Lad’s Rigg — what he did to-day at 
the sheep-washing — what he and his cursed hound would do, 
if ye, and I, and fifty times our numbers, fenced him round 
with steel.” 

Go, cousins. Grandfather is — is faint again. The fit 
will pass if ye leave him to it,” said Janet, jealous always lest 
they should guess the secret which only she and Nicholas 
shared. 

The younger men glanced meaningly one at the other as they 
moved off. Old brains breed maggots,” muttered one. 

‘‘And so will Wayne before the month is old,” answered 
Red Ratcliffe brutally, turning for a last malicious glance at 
Janet. 

He saw that the girl was following him with fearless, in- 
scrutable eyes. A shadow of doubt crossed his triumph, and 
he cursed the boastfulness that had led him to tell his plans so 
openly in hearing of one who was well affected toward Shame- 
less Wayne. 

The Lean Man sat on, his head between his hands, his feet 
working shiftlessly among the last year’s leaves that still cum- 
bered the neglected garden. “ Not by skill of sword, nor yet 
by guile,” he was saying, over and over. “We must go with 
the stream now — ’tis useless striving — yet, by the Red Heart, 
I shall turn nightly in my grave if Wayne goes quick above 
ground after I am dead.” 

Janet crept softly over the strip of lawn without rousing 
him, and went through the wicket that opened on the pasture- 
fields. Nell Wayne was here, then, and in peril — Mistress 
Nell, who had railed on her as a light woman because she had 
gained the love of Shameless Wayne, who had flouted her as 


268 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


if she were mud beneath her feet. A savage joy burned in 
the girl’s heart for a moment ; but after it there came the 
memory of Red RatclifFe’s words ; and it seemed a poor thing 
to humble Nell if Wayne were to pay a better price for it. 
Could she do naught to help him ? 

She smiled in self-derision. The last time she had sought to 
help Wayne, she had all but compassed his undoing. Yet how 
could she rest idle, knowing what was to come ? As of old, 
she turned to the moor for help, and walked the heather fever- 
ishly ; and not till the sun was lowering fast toward Dead 
Lad’s Rigg did she return to Wildwater. 

Nicholas and Red Ratcliffe were in hall together, the 
younger man full of talk, the other taciturn and hopeless. 

The messenger has gone, sir,” Red RatclifFe was saying ; 
‘‘Wayne will be here before long — rouse yourself, for we’re 
growing to lose heart at sight of you.” 

“ Give me the key of the room where Mistress Nell is 
prisoned. I want to speak with her,” said Janet, coming 
boldly up to them. 

“ A likely request, cousin ! The key lies safe in my pocket, 
and there ’twill stay.” 

“When Janet asks aught, thou’lt give it her, thou cross- 
mannered whelp,” put in the Lean Man sharply. A lack of 
courtesy toward his chosen one could rouse him even yet. 

Red RatclifFe hesitated, then gave way to the old habit of 
obedience; but, as Janet took the key and crossed to the pas- 
sage leading to Nell’s prison, he followed her. 

“ I’ll stay this side the door while thou hast speech of her,” 
he said, with an ugly smile. 

“ As it pleases thee,” she answered, opening the door and 
closing it behind her. 

She had meant to set the captive free, at any hazard to her- 
self ; but she was prepared to find her scheme thwarted in some 
such way, and she had a likelier plan ready framed against the 
failure of the first. It was not needful now to have speech 
at all of Nell ; but lest suspicion should fall more darkly on 
her than it need she must go in. 

The room was low and small, lighted by a single narrow 
window that showed a sweep of purpling moor. Nell Wayne 
was sitting at the casement, her eyes fixed hungrily on the 
freedom that was almost within touch of her hand; she sprang 


WHAT CHANCED AT WILDWATER 269 


to her feet as the door opened, and turned at bay ; and when 
she saw who stood before her the fierceness deepened in her 
eyes and straight-set figure. 

For a moment they stood and looked at one another; and 
no Wayne had ever crossed sword more hotly with a Rat- 
clifFe than these two women of either house crossed glances. 
For theirs was no chance feud, bred by a quarrel as to pre- 
cedence in sheep-washing ; it was the age-old feud that lies 
heart-deep between woman and woman, the feud that hisses 
into flame whenever love for the one man blows on the 
smouldering fire. 

‘^You come to mock me, doubtless,’’ said Nell at last. 

“ That would be to mock my own pride. Mistress. I came 
with quite other thoughts.” 

I am honoured that the lady of the house sees fit — in a 
late hour, perchance — to give welcome to her guest.” 

‘‘ Lower your voice, I beg. There’s a pair of sharp ears at 
the door, and what I have to say will not bear listening to. — 
Hark ye. Mistress ! I am going to pluck you out of this, and 
quickly.” 

How, you ? I do not understand — I ” 

Nay, ’tis for no love of you I do it, but because they mean 
to use you as a lure to bring your brother up to Wildwater.” 

Nell lost a little of her upright carriage. Is that why 
they brought me here ? ” she asked slowly. 

‘‘For that — and with a thought of their own pleasure, 
doubtless, afterward. Shall I save your brother. Mistress, or 
will it defile him to owe safety to such as me ? ” 

Nell turned to the window again, and did not answer for a 
space. Then, “ Go,” she whispered faintly — “ but I would 
God it had been any one but you.” 

“And / would God I might save him alone, leaving you to 
nurse your pride in a cold lap. But fate is hard. Mistress, 
and compels us to travel over the same bridge ; ’twould be 
well to hold your skirts, lest I touch them by the way.” 

“ Go, go ! Say I wronged you — say anything, so only you 
keep Ned out of danger.” 

Despite herself, Janet could not but mark how little this 
girl thought of her own safety, how much of the brother who, 
at worst, had only life to lose. “ I shall have to leave you 
here awhile. Have you no fear r ” she asked, 


270 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


None, save that Ned will knock at the gates while you 
stand dallying here.” 

Janet turned to the door, then faced about, her bitterness 
craving a last word. Remember, whether I lose or win, 

that ’twas all for Ned I did it. I would have seen you 
shamed, and gladdened at it.” 

Some hidden softness slipped into the other’s voice. She 
had endured suspense and misery, and now that help had come 
she weakened at the thought of peril. Nay,” she whis- 
pered, you are a woman as I am. Mistress, and you know, 
as I know, how frail is the casket in which we keep our 
jewels. For love of her that bore you, you could never have 
looked on gladly and seen ” 

Janet glanced curiously at her. “ You are right,” she 
flashed, taking a dagger from her breast. “ Mistress, I would 
have fought for you, had blows been needful. Take this, and 
if any troubles you while I’m away — why, you know how to 
use it. Only, strike for the heart next time, if you are wise.” 

Red RatclifFe was walking up and down the passage when 
she came out. He took the key from her, turned the lock 
sharply, and scanned her face for some hint of what had 
passed. For again he was puzzled, as he had been once be- 
fore when he had suspected Janet’s good-faith and had found 
it justified. Listen as he would, he had not been able to 
gather the drift of what passed between the girls ; yet their 
voices, low and strained, did not sound like those of friends 
who talked of each other’s safety. 

‘‘Well ? ” he said, putting the key into his pocket and lay- 
ing a rough hand on Janet as she tried to pass him. 

“ My answer is to grandfather, sir. What I have said or 
not said is for wiser ears than thine.” 

He laughed as a fresh thought came to him. “ Gad, Janet, 
I see it now ! This proud wench of Marsh disdained thee as 
a brother’s wife, and thou didst take the chance to turn the 
tables on her. By the Heart, I believe thou’rt glad we brought 
her here.” 

Janet hung her head, as if for shame of being found out. 
“ Suppose I am ? ” she murmured. — “ Yet, cousin, I had liefer 
thou hadst guessed naught of it.” 

“Trick a weasel, and then look to hoodwink Red Rat- 
cliffe,” cried the other, pleased with his own discernment. — 


WHAT CHANCED AT WILDWATER 271 

Where art going, Janet ? ’’ he broke off, as she turned to the 
side-door leading to the fields. 

Where I list, cousin, without leave asked of thee or 
granted.” 

Nay, but I think thou’lt not go out of doors ! To hate 
the sister is one thing — but thou’lt foil us with the brother if 
once we let thee out of doors.” 

She thought of slipping past him first, but his bulk filled 
three parts of the narrow passage ; so, curbing her tongue, 
she made him a little curtsey. 

Thou dost honour me to think I take sides against my 
folk,” she said. As it chances, I care not so much, after all, 
to go out, and grandfather will need me. Have I thy per- 
mission to go into hall and seek him ? ” 

“ One day Pll cut out that little tongue of thine, Janet, and 
clean it of its mockery. Go and welcome — and may the Lean 
Man have joy of thee.” 

He followed her a pace or two, remembering that there 
were more doors than one which opened on the moor ; then 
stopped with a shrug. He was no match, he knew, for Janet 
and her grandfather together, and if the girl were bent on go- 
ing out, she was sure of winning the old man’s consent. Be- 
sides, Nell Wayne was here, and it would take more than 
Janet’s beauty, if he knew aught, more than her wit and quick 
resourcefulness, to keep Wayne of Marsh from galloping to 
the rescue. 

Janet found the Lean Man half-sitting, half-lying on the 
lang-settle, his eyes closed, his head resting in the hollow of 
one arm. She came and leant over the high back of the settle, 
and watched him with infinite sadness in her eyes. She knew 
the meaning of these spells of daytime sleep which were more 
akin to stupors than to healthy slumber ; he had passed a night 
of terror, wrestling hour by hour with the Brown Dog of 
Marsh, and now weariness had followed, giving him uneasy 
dreams in place of fevered wakefulness. 

The Dog — flames of the Pit, he holds me — beat him off, 
there ! Cannot ye see I’m helpless — beat him off, I say — his 
teeth are in my throat,” muttered Nicholas, with closed eyes 
and tight-clenched lips. 

“ Grandfather, would I could cleave to you, in loyalty as in 
love,” whispered the girl, the tears streaming down her cheeks. 


272 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


‘‘ What can I do, sir ? ” she went on hurriedly, as if he were 
awake to hear her. ‘‘ I loathe myself for going — I should 
loathe myself if I stayed. Cannot I save Wayne without 
wronging you ? See, sir, you’ll gain nothing by his death — 
bid me go and snatch him from these red folk who are not 
worthy to be kin to you.” 

‘‘Wayne will win free — must win free — there’s naught can 
pierce that armour,” said the Lean Man, stirring in his sleep 
again. 

The girl’s face brightened. This chance repetition of the 
thought that ever lay uppermost in the old man’s mind was 
no chance to her, but an omen. “ Wayne must win free,” 
she echoed, changing the whole meaning of the words by a 
skilful turn of voice. “Wayne must win free. He has said 
it, and I will obey.” 

Crossing the noisy boards on tip-toe, she opened the main- 
door, sped through it, and was lost amid the flaming sunset 
glory of the heath. 

“ Lost, all lost. God of the lightning and the storm, will 
you not strike Wayne dead for me ?” cried the Lean Man, 
and woke, and gazed about him wonderingly. 


CHAPTER XXII 


AND WHAT CHANCED AT MARSH 

All afternoon the Marsh farm-hands had laboured at the 
sheep-washing, after their brisk skirmish with the RatclifFes. 
There had been but one break in the work, and that was when 
Shameless Wayne and all his folk crossed to the nearest farm 
to stay their hunger. Nor would Wayne leave them after- 
ward, though there was little need of him once the work had 
started again in good earnest. It pleased his mood to share 
and share alike, despite his wounds, with the unwilling labour 
he had forced from them; and the sun was going down redly 
and the rushes whispering their evening dirge when he set off 
for Marsh. 

“ Mind that ye bring the Ratcliffe sheep with you ; Pd not 
lose them for the world,” he said at parting, and rode light- 
hearted down the slope, the lads beside him, with a thought 
that home and a full meal and the sight of women’s faces 
would be passing good. 

The hall at Marsh was empty when he went in, after leav- 
ing his brothers to put the horses into stable. Man-like, he 
felt aggrieved that there was none to give him welcome, when 
he had looked forward to such greeting throughout the jour- 
ney home. Where was Nell ? Or, failing her, surely his 
step-mother should be at hand somewhere. He went to the 
garden in search of them, but that was empty too ; so he 
crossed to the kitchen, where he found Martha busy with 
preparation of the evening meal. 

‘‘ Where is the Mistress ? I can find her nowhere,” he 
said, leaning against the doorway. 

Martha looked up from the joint that was turning on the 
spit, and settled herself into an easiful attitude that suggested 
a hope of gossip. 

‘‘Nay, I cannot tell ye, Maister,” she answered. “I’ve 
been wondering myseln, for I’ve niver set een on her sin’ 
afternooin. Mary telled me ’at Mistress Wayne came in. 

273 


274 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


looking gaumless-like an’ flaired, an’ a two-three minutes at 
after Mistress Nell went out wi’ her. But nawther one nor 
t’ other hes corned back that I knaw on.” 

Wayne nodded curtly to Martha and turned on his heel, 
cutting short her expectation of a pleasant round of doubt and 
fear and surmise. 

I would they were safe back again,” he muttered. Nell 
must be fey, to go wandering abroad at this late hour.” 

A brisk step sounded behind him, as Nanny Witherlee en- 
♦ tered by the outer door of the kitchen and hobbled across the 
rush-strewn flag-stones. 

Good-even, Maister. Is there owt wrang at Marsh ? ” 
said the Sexton’s wife. 

‘‘Why, Nanny, what dost thou here?” cried Wayne. 
“ Lord, nurse, thou wear’st thy eerie look, as if thou wert 
ringing God-speed to a dead man’s soul. What ails thee to 
cross from Marshcotes after sundown ? ” 

“ Nay, I’ve heard th’ wind sobbing all th’ day, like a bairn 
that’s lost on th’ moor ; an’ th’ wind niver cries like yond 
save it hes getten gooid cause. So, says I, at after Witherlee 
an’ me hed hed our bit o’ supper, I’ll step dahn to Marsh, 
says I, for I cannot bide a minute longer without knawing 
what’s agate.” 

Wayne kept well in the shadow of the passage, for he 
shrank from letting Nanny see the marks he carried of the 
late fight — shrank, too, from showing how prone he was to- 
night to catch the infection of her ghostly speech. This bent 
old woman, with her sharp tongue, her outspokenness, her 
queer, familiar talk of other-worldly things, had never lost her 
hold upon the Master ; she was still the nurse who lang syne 
had sent him shivering to bed with her tales of wind-speech 
and of water-speech, of the Dog, and the Sorrowful Woman, 
and the shrouded shapes that stalked at midnight over kirk- 
yard graves. He had been no more than vaguely troubled 
hitherto by Nell’s absence ; but now he feared the worst, for 
he had never known the Sexton’s wife make prophecy of dole 
for naught. 

Nanny stood looking at him all this while — trying to read 
his face, but baulked by the shadows that clustered thick be- 
yond the fringe of candle-light. 

“ Well, Maister ? ” she said softly, as still he did not speak. 


AND WHAT CHANCED AT MARSH 275 


‘‘Well, nurse ? Dost think Pm still unbreeked, and ready 
as of old to shiver at thy tales ? ” 

“ Then there’s nowt wrang at Marsh ? ” 

“What should be wrong 

“ If all goes weel, why do ye stand so quiet there, Maister ? 
An’ why do ye hide your face when Nanny talks to ye ? ” 

Wayne forced a laugh as he moved down the passage. 
“ Hunger puts strange fancies in a man,” he said, “ and ’tis 
long since I had bite or sup.” 

Nanny did not follow him, but turned to Martha, who had 
listened with dismay to all that passed. 

“ Proud — alius proud,” she said. “ He niver wod own to 
feeling flaired, wodn’t th’ Maister. But I tell thee, lass, 
there’s bahn to be sich happenings as nawther thee nor me 
hes seen th’ like on.” 

“ We’ve hed happenings enough, Nanny — Lord save us 
fro’ owt but peace, say I.” 

“ Lord save us, says th’ wench ! As if there war Lord to 
hearken save th’ God that fills th’ storm’s belly wi’ thunder 
an’ wi’ leetning. Cannot tha hear, Martha, lass ? ’Tis 
throb, throb — an’ ivery cranny o’ th’ owd walls hes getten a 
voice to-neet. — Hark ye ! Th’ Maister hes gone out into th’ 
courtyard ! An’ there’s Wayne o’ Cranshaw’s rough-edged 
voice. Th’ storm is gathering fast, I warrant.” 

Shameless Wayne, meanwhile, wandering out of doors to 
see if there were any sign of Nell’s return, had found his 
cousin in the courtyard. Rolf had just ridden over from 
Cranshaw, and the four lads stood round his horse in an eager 
knot, telling him of the day’s exploits and making off-hand 
mention of their wounds. 

“ Why, Ned, has the day borne hardly on thee ? Thou 
look’st out of heart,” cried Rolf, as Shameless Wayne came 
slowly across the courtyard. 

Wayne tried to shake off his forebodings. “Nay, ’tis not 
the day’s work troubles me,” he said. “ We trounced them 
bonnily, Rolf, and these four rascals would have chased them 
to the Pit had I not held them in. Griff yonder will be a 
better swordsman than his teacher before the year is out.” 

“ Thou’rt wounded deepish, by the look of thee. Ned, I’d 
give a twelvemonth of my life to have fought beside thee at 
the washing-pools.” 


276 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


Shameless Wayne laughed soberly. ‘‘’Twas worth as 
much. — There, Rolf! Thou’lt have thy chance, I fancy, by 
and by.” 

“Then there’s to be another battle ? ” cried GrifF eagerly. 

“Likely, thou man of blood,” said Shameless Wayne, with 
a would-be lightness that sounded strangely heavy to Rolf’s ears. 

“ What troubles thee ? ” he asked. “ ’Tis naught to do 
with the Ratcliffes, thou say’st ? ” 

“ With the Ratcliffes ? I’m not so sure, lad. Nell has not 
come home since dinner, nor Mistress Wayne. — Ah, there’s 
the little bairn at last ; haply she can tell us what mad scamper 
Nell is bent on.” 

Mistress Wayne was walking down the lane as if she could 
scarce trail one foot behind the other ; but she glanced up as 
she came through the gate, and her weariness left her on the 
sudden. One startled cry she gave at sight of her step-son, 
and then she ran to him with outstretched hands. 

“ Well, what is it, bairn ? ” he asked. 

They said thou wast dying, Ned, and I never thought to 
doubt them. Tell me it is no dream; thou’rt living, dear — 
yes, yes, thy grasp feels warm and real. Ah, God be 
thanked ! ” 

“ They said. Who troubled to tell lies to thee ? ” cried 
Wayne, sore perplexed. 

“ Three of the Ratcliffes who met me on the moor.” 

Wayne of Cranshaw looked at his cousin. “Trickery,” 
he muttered. 

“Ay, there’s trickery somewhere. — Tell us more, bairn, 
about this ill-timed meeting.” 

Little by little they drew the whole tale from Mistress 
Wayne — how they had bidden her bring Nell to the boundary- 
stone, how Nell had gone, she following ; how she had seen 
her last on the hill-top, and then had found an empty road. 

“ I swooned, Ned, then,” she finished, “ and lay so for a 
long while. And when I came out of it I had no strength to 
move at first, and I thought the journey down to Marsh 
would never end.” 

“ I am riding to Wildwater, Ned. Who comes with me ? ” 
said Wayne of Cranshaw brusquely. 

“ All of us,” broke in the four lads, with a gaiety ill-match- 
ing the occasion. 


AND WHAT CHANCED AT MARSH 277 


“ Nay, youngsters, ye’ve done enough for the one day,” 
said Shameless Wayne. — ‘‘Let’s start forthwith, then, Rolf, 
and rattle their cursed house about their ears.” 

“ What, two against them all ? ” cried the little woman, 
aghast. “Ned, ’twould be throwing thy life away — ride up 
to Hill House and to Cranshaw first, and get thy folk about 
thee.” 

“ Mistress Wayne is right,” said Rolf, after a pause. “ We 
shall but throw our lives away if we go up alone — and what 
will chance then to Nell ? ” 

Still W ayne would not yield ; the speed of his last battle 
was in his veins still, and he could not brook delay. And 
while they stood there, halting between the two courses, a 
red-headed horseman came at a wary trot down Barguest 
Lane. The summer dusk was enough to show that he glanced 
guardedly from side to side and kept a light hold of the reins 
as if to turn at the first hint of danger. Seeing the gate fast 
closed, however, he drew rein at the far side of it and peered 
over into the courtyard. He glanced at the men’s belts first, 
and saw that they were empty of pistols ; then turned his 
horse in readiness for flight. 

“God’s life the fool is venturesome,” muttered Wayne. 
“ What should he want at Marsh ? ” 

“I’ve a message for thee, Wayne of Marsh,” cried the 
horseman, still fingering the reins uneasily and striving to cover 
his mistrust with a laugh. For he had liked this mission ill, 
and only the Lean Man’s command had forced him to it. 

“A message, have ye?” said Wayne. “Your news is 
known already. Ride back, you lean-ribbed hound, before we 
whip you on the road.” 

The horseman gathered confidence a little from the closed 
gate. “Soft, fool Wayne! We hold your sister safe at 
Wildwater, and the Lean Man, of his courtesy, bade me ride 
down and ensure you a fair night’s rest by telling you what we 
mean to do with her. She will lie soft to-night ” 

The red-head, even while the taunt was on his lips, pulled 
sharply at the curb. But Wayne of Cranshaw was overquick 
for him. With a cry that rang up every hollow of the fields, 
Rolf set his horse at the gate, and landed at the rider’s side, 
and dropped him from the saddle before he guessed that there 
was danger. 


278 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


Rolf steadied his horse, then was silent for awhile as he 
wiped his blade with unhurried carefulness. 

‘‘ Dost see the plot, Ned ? ” he asked grimly, with another 
glance at the fallen horseman. 

‘‘Nay, I see only that Nell is in peril all this while — and 
that the RatclifFes had need to rid them of a fool, since they 
sent him here to meet so plain a death.” 

“ He came, this same fool, to taunt thee into going to Wild- 
water, if I can read the matter — came to make sure that we 
should do just what thou wast so hot to do just now. — God, 
Ned ! She shall lie soft to-night — how the foul words 
stick ” 

“ Ned, is there no end to it — no end to it ? ” broke in Mis- 
tress Wayne, clinging tight to his hand and keeping her eyes 
away from the body lying in the roadway just without. 

“ Get thee within-doors, bairn ; ’tis no fit place for thee.” 

“ Not unless thou’lt come, too. Ned, Pll not have thee ride 
to Wildwater — keep within shelter while thou canst ” 

But her step-son shook off her hand. “ Rolf,” he said, 
coming to the gate and trying to read the other’s face, “ wilt 
come with me now to Wildwater ? ” 

Wayne of Cranshaw straightened himself in the saddle and 
gathered the reins with a firmer grip. “ Nay, for we’ll make 
sure — we’ll go neither by ones nor twos, but take our whole 
force with us. Hast had supper, Ned ? No ? Well, thou 
need’st it if thou’rt to fight a second time to-day ; so let the 
lads go fetch our kin from Hill House. I’ll ride to Cranshaw 
for my folk, and we’ll all fare up together.” 

“ Nay, we’ll not wait — ” began Ned. 

But Rolf was already on his road to Cranshaw, and Shame- 
less Wayne, knowing that any other plan was madness, curbed 
his hot mood as best he might. He would have ridden to 
Hill House himself, but the lads pleaded so hard to go, and he 
had such crying need for food to brace him for the coming 
struggle, that he agreed at last. 

“ Be off, then, lads,” he said. “ ’Tis a short ride, with no 
danger by the way, if ye’ll promise not to turn aside for any 
sort of frolic.” 

They scampered off to the stables to re-saddle their horses ; 
and Wayne, as he watched them go, sighed for the boyish 
heedlessness which had been his not a twelvemonth ago. 


AND WHAT CHANCED AT MARSH 279 


Griff’s thoughts were all of danger, the thrill and rush of bat- 
tle ; and his sister’s capture, it was plain, was no more to him 
than a fresh fight, in which the Ratcliffes would again go down 
before them. 

Ay, if it meant no more ! ” mused Shameless Wayne, and 
turned as his step-mother came timidly to his side. 

Come in to supper, dear. Thou need’st it, as Wayne of 
Cranshaw said,” she pleaded, threading her arm through his 
and coaxing him indoors. 

The board was ready spread ; but the brave show of 
pewter, the meats and pasties and piled heaps of haverbread, 
served only to make the wide, empty hall look drearier, and 
Wayne would not glance at the slender, high-backed chair 
which riiarked Nell’s wonted seat at table. 

Hunger was killed in him ; but he forced himself to eat, 
since food meant strength to fight Nell’s battle by and by. 
And while he ate, the little woman sat close beside him, 
watching his every movement, and wishful, so it seemed, to 
speak of something that lay near her heart. 

Ned,” she whispered, finding courage at last, “ it was I 
who sent Nell across the moor to-day ; and what she said to 
me was true — I have brought nothing but disaster on your 
house since first I came to Marsh. The man who lies out- 
side there, Ned — the man whom your cousin slew — I was 
feared just now, seeing him dead. But need I be ? God 
knows I would fain lie where he lies now, for then — then, 
dear, I should bring no more trouble upon those I love. 

Naught but disaster I’ve brought ” 

‘‘That is not true, bairn,” said Wayne gently. “ Many a 
time thou hast brought rest to me when none else could — no, 
not Nell herself. — Ay, once thou gav’st me hope that there was 
no such crying shame in loving awry,” he added, with sudden 
bitterness. “ What of thy wisdom now, bairn ? Shall I woo 
Mistress Janet while I help tear Wildwater stone from stone ? ” 
“ It was no fault of hers, dear. How if she sorrows for 
Nell as much as thou, or I, or any of us ? ” 

But Wayne would not listen. “ How the time crawls!” 
he muttered, as he pushed his plate away and rose impatiently. 
“ Surely they are here by now. Hark I was not that the 
courtyard-gate ? I left it unbarred against their coming. 
Didst hear it opened ? ” 


28 o 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


‘‘Ay, I heard it opened — and there’s a footstep on the pav- 
ing-stones.” 

“ Bairn, help me to buckle my sword-belt on again. I 
know there’s luck goes where thy hand has rested.” 

She helped him eagerly. “ It is not all disaster that I 
bring, then ? Thanks for that word, Ned ; I needed it,” she 
murmured, chafing her baby fingers against the stiff buckle. 

She was still striving with it, and Ned was stooping to help 
her, when the main door opened, and Janet Ratcliffe stood 
slender on the threshold, not laughing, but with an odd merri- 
ment lurking in her eyes and about her resolute mouth. 

“ I have come to our dearest enemy. Make me your cap- 
tive, Wayne of Marsh,” she said. 

He sprang back as if she had been less warmly flesh and 
blood; but Mistress Wayne smiled in her pleased child’s 
fashion as she crept out of sight among the shadow's at the 
far end of the hall. 

“ You have chosen your time well. Mistress, if a jest is in 
your mind,” said Wayne. 

“ Nothing further, sir. Your sister is in dire peril ; would 
less have brought me to one who has spurned my warnings 
oft aforetime ? ” 

He waited, frowning, till she should tell him more. 

“ Men’s wits move like the snail does, methinks,” she 
cried. “ Am I less dear at Wildwater than Nell at Marsh ? 
Send up to the Lean Man, sir, and say what dread things you 
will do to me, and see if he will not exchange his prisoner for 
yours.” 

Wayne looked hard at her, doubtful still and bewildered by 
the heedless devilry of her plan. “You have risked much 
for the honour of my house,” he said slowly. 

“ Nay, for the honour of a woman who had little deserved 
the infamy they planned for her.” 

“ But ’tis out of reason ! You run too great a hazard. 
Mistress. — See, our plans are laid, and already the Cranshaw 
and the Hill House Waynes are on the road hither. Go back 
while you have time. Mistress.” 

“ I shall not go back, sir, for I know how hopeless are your 
plans. They have guarded Wildwater securely against at- 
tack; and even if you seemed like to force an entry they 
would make sure — how shall I tell thee, Ned ? ” she broke 


AND WHAT CHANCED AT MARSH 281 


ofF, lapsing to the old familiar speech and turning her eyes 
shamefacedly from his. 

‘‘ They would make sure of Nell’s dishonour. That is thy 
meaning, Janet ? God’s life, that is a true word. Yet — 
when they learn that this capture was all thy doing, not mine, 
thou’lt have a rough welcome home to Wildwater ? ” 

There is always danger for me there,” she said, her voice 
deepening; but that should not vex thee, surely, Wayne of 
Marsh ? ” 

Shameless Wayne glanced neither back nor forward now. 
It seemed as if some hidden chord, frayed by the months of 
self-denial, had snapped on the sudden ; her fearless strength, 
her man’s power to frame a swift stroke of daring and to 
carry it through, her woman’s fierce, unheeding tenderness — 
all these he understood at last — understood, too, that his love 
for her, nurtured in rough soil and inclement weather, had 
come to a hardier growth than pride. Before, he had lacked 
her, felt the keen need of possession ; but now he loved 
her, and watched the old barriers crumble into unmeaning 
dust. 

‘‘ Janet,” he said quietly, not moving nearer to her yet, 
‘‘ dost think I care naught what chances to thee ? ” 

“ ’Twould seem so, Ned. Twice I have told thee of the 
bargain made between the Lean Man and my cousins ” 

‘‘Nay, only hinted at it. What was this bargain, Janet ? ” 

Lower still her voice dropped. “ That I should be given 
to the one who slew thee,” she said. 

She glanced once at him, and for the first time since leav- 
ing Wildwater she felt a touch of fear. For Shameless 
Wayne had given a cry — a cry such as she had never heark- 
ened to, so deep it was, so brutish in its rage against those who 
had agreed to this foul bargain. He sprang to her side — she 
could feel his arms close masterful about her — and then, with 
some strange instinct of defence, she forced herself away. 

“ Not that, Ned,” she cried. “ Is it a fit hour for — for 
softness ? — And see, thou’rt wounded, Ned — and I’ve had no 
time to tell thee ” 

A dozen feints of speech she would have tried to keep him 
at arm’s-length, but Wayne would none of them. 

“ There’s one wound, lass, of thy own giving, that mat- 
ters more than all the rest,” he said. 


282 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


“ Hush ! ril not listen. There’s work to be done — ’twill 
not wait — it is no fit hour, I tell thee.” 

• The last flush of gloaming stained the dark oak walls, the 
spears and trophies of the chase that hung on them ; it 
lighted, too, the girl’s straight figure and bent head, as she 
shrank against the window — shrank from Wayne, and from 
the knowledge that her will was broken once for all. Ay, she 
was conquered, she who had lived her own life heretofore ; 
what if she could hide it from him? Was it too late to es- 
cape into the free wilderness where she was mistress of her 
thoughts and secrets ? It had been easy once, when they had 
met, boy and girl, to pass light love-vows at the kirk-stone; 
but this was giving all to him, and her pride rebelled, ashamed 
of its own powerlessness. 

But Wayne was not to be held in check. He wooed like a 
storm-wind, and like a reed she bent to him. 

‘‘ It is a fit hour,” he cried — and what is to be done will 
wait, child, till thou hast told me — ” He stopped, and lifted 
her face till she was forced to meet his glance. 

‘‘ Told thee what, Ned ? ” she asked, not knowing whether 
her unwillingness were real or feigned. 

“That thou’rt mine altogether — that thy thoughts are mine, 
and thy body, and thy pride — ay, that I’ve mastered thee.” 

Wayne kept her face tight prisoned. She could feel his 
touch gain fierceness ; his voice had a note in it not to be 
gainsaid. 

“Ned, I will not say it — will not — ” she faltered. 

And then on the sudden she put both arms about his neck, 
and laid her face to his, and, “ Thou art my master — my mas- 
ter, God be thanked,” she whispered. 

The good-nights of birds came sleepily from the dim gar- 
den ; there was a stir of laggard bees among the flowers ; and 
pride of summer reigned for its little spell with these storm- 
driven*children of the moor. And frail Mistress Wayne, who 
had watched, mute and unheeded, from the shadows that 
seemed scarce more unsubstantial than herself, went out and 
left them to it. 

So for a space ; and then a new sound was born of this 
restless, haunted night. Far off from Barguest Lane there 
came a shouting of gruff voices, and the sparrows in the eaves 
awoke to chirp a fitful protest. 


AND WHAT CHANCED AT MARSH 283 


Janet turned in Ned’s arms and glanced toward the door. 

What is’t, Ned ? ” she whispered. 

‘‘The Waynes are here,” he cried — “and Til take a . 
lighter heart to Wildwater, Janet, for knowing-: ” 

“ But, Ned, thou didst promise not to go,” she cried. 

“ Ay, but I’ve learned that from thee which makes me 
doubly set on going. Dost think I could let thee return now 
to the Lean Man’s care ? ” 

“ Yes, yes ! I tell thee, there’s no danger but what I have 
faced before, and can meet again.” 

“We were over-happy just now, girl ; fate grudges that. 
Thou shalt not go, I say.” 

“ There ! I knew ’twas folly to name thee master. Hark 
how thou usest the whip at the first chance ! Is every wish of 
mine to be thwarted now, to prove thy sovereignty ? ” 

“ Nay, for it’s sure. But when I hear thee ask to fight my 
battles ” 

“ Whose else should I fight, dear lad ? ” she broke in, with 
pretty wilfulness. “ See, ’tis the first thing I’ve asked of thee, 
and I will not take denial. Ride to Wildwater, thou and thy 
friends, and ye place Nell in peril, as I told thee. Send word 
that I am here, and she will be brought safely down to 
Marsh. Ned, try the plan at least ! And if it fails. I’ll let 
thee ” 

“ But what of Nell meanwhile ? Each moment lost ” 

“ I left her my own dagger, and she has given proof already 
that she can use it. But there’s no fear for her, unless ye 
drive my folk to bay.” 

The noise without grew louder, and Wayne moved slowly 
to the door. How could he let Janet go ? Yet how could he 
place Nell in greater jeopardy than need be ? It was a hard 
knot to unravel, but the dogged self-denial of the past months 
stood him in good stead now. 

“ Thou shalt go,” he said, and went out into the courtyard, 
wondering how best to send a message up to Wildwater. 

The Waynes had not come yet, however. The shouting 
he had heard was from the farm-hands, returning in gay spirits 
to the supper he had promised them. But their jollity had 
met with a sudden check. The moon was rising over Worm’s 
Hill, and by its light the men were stealing awed glances at the 
RatclifFe whom Wayne of Cranshaw had left lying by the gate. 


284 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


Nay, begow ! ” Hiram Hey was saying. If this doan’t 
beat all. First we mun sheep- wesh ; then we mun fight ; an’ 
at after that we mun wesh an’ wesh till our bodies is squeezed 
dry o’ sweat. An’ then, just as we think all’s done, th’ Maister 
mun needs go killing fair on th’ Marsh door-stuns. We’ll hev 
to whistle for yond supper, lads, ye mark my words.” 

‘‘Not for long, Hiram,” said Wayne lightly. He was 
anxious to keep Nell’s capture secret from all these chattering 
folk as long as might be. 

Hiram, no whit abashed to find the Master standing so un- 
expectedly at his elbow, thrust his hands still deeper into his 
pockets. 

“ Well, I’m hoping not,” he said, in his slow way ; “ for 
I’m that droughty I scarce know how to bide. Wark’s wark, 
Maister, I’ve hed as mich fighting as iver I can thoyle i’ th’ 
one day.” 

“ Get to the kitchen, all of you, and tell the maids I sent 
you,” cried the Maister, disregarding Hiram’s snarls. 

“ An’ th’ ale, Maister ? October, ye said, if I call to mind 
— there’s no weaker-bodied ale could fill th’ hoil I’ve getten i’ 
my innards.” 

“ Broach a fresh barrel, then,” snapped Wayne, “ and put 
thy mouth to the bung-hole if it pleases thee.” 

“I wonder,” said Hiram shrewdly to himself as he slouched 
off at the head of his fellows. “ Th’ Maister hes a queerish 
look. I’m thinking — trouble i’ th’ forefront of his een, an’ be- 
hind it a rare gladsomeness. There’s a lass in ’t, mebbe — his 
face hes niver caught that fly-by-sky brightness sin’ he used to 
come fro’ coorting Mistress Ratcliffe i’ his owd wild 
days.” 

Shameless Wayne looked up the road to see if his kinsfolk 
were in sight ; then at the retreating backs of the farm -men. 

“ Hiram ! I want a word with thee,” he called, following 
a sudden thought. 

“ I’ll warrant. What did I say ? ” growled Hiram to him- 
self, as he retraced his steps. “ Lord, I wish th’ lad’s back 
hed niver stiffened, that I do ; it’s wark an’ nowt but wark 
sin’ he took hod.” 

“ Canst keep a still tongue when ’tis needful ? ” said Wayne 
abruptly. 

“ As weel as most, Maister.” 


AND WHAT CHANCED AT MARSH 285 


The Mistress is taken by the Ratcliffes — taken while we 
were at the washing-pools.” 

Hiram did not answer for awhile. “ Oh, ay ? Then we 
mun get her back again,” he said at last, not showing a trace 
of his concern. 

And / have snatched the Lean Man’s grand-daughter in 
return.” 

Now I knaw ! ” murmured the other. ‘‘ I said no less 
wod set that light i’ his een. — Well, Maister, an’ what are ye 
bahn to do wi’ th’ wench, now ye’ve getten her ? ” 

I’m going to send her safe to her folk when they bring 
back Mistress Nell; and I want thee, Hiram, to get word 
taken somehow up to Wildwater. Thou know’st where to 
find one of their farm-hands, maybe, or ” 

‘‘ Ay, that I do ; for we fell in wi’ one as we war coming 
dahn th* loin a while back, an’ a rare laugh we hed at him. 
We sent a word ourselns by him to Wildwater, to axe when 
they’d like next to wesh sheep alongside th’ Wayne lads. 
Let’s see, now — he war wending Marshcotes way, an’ it’s owt 
to nowt ’at he’s i’ th’ Bull tavern this varry minute.” 

“ I’ll ride across, then, and see him ; thank thee for the 
news, Hiram,” said the Master briskly. 

Leave that to me, Maister. Kind to kind, an’ th’ gentry 
is poor hands at trafficking wi’ sich as us. I’ll say more to 
yond chap i’ five minutes nor ye’d say i’ a twelvemonth — an’ 
he’ll tak a straight tale, too, if I knaw owt. What’s he to 
say, like ? ” 

“ That we hold Mistress Janet. That if my sister is not 
here by midnight, we’ll pay coin for coin. That they can 
trust our honour better than we can trust theirs, and the 
moment Mistress Nell sets foot on the Marsh threshold, my 
prisoner shall go free likewise. Canst carry all that, Hiram ? ” 

I’ll try — ay. I’ll try.” 

‘‘Then get thee gone, and make the message curt as if it 
were a sword-thrust.” 

Hiram had scarce taken the field-track to Marshcotes, when 
again the clatter of hoofs came down Barguest Lane — hoof- 
beats, and the ring of many voices. Wayne could hear his 
Cousin Rolf’s voice loud above the rest, and he ran into hall 
for one last word with Janet before the coming of his folk 
denied him further speech of her. 


286 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


He found her sitting by the window, her hands lying idle in 
her lap as she watched the promise of a moon scarce risen 
steal through the dimness of the summer’s night. 

“What art thinking, Janet? ’’ he asked. 

“ Thinking ? Why, that the doubts were all on thy side 
once — and now they seem all on mine. I, too, have kin to 
wrong, Ned, and when I think of meeting the Lean Man with 
guile ” 

“ He has cared well for thee,” said Wayne bitterly. “ Small 
wonder thou think’st kindly of him.” 

“ Ah, but thou know’st naught of the kindly side of him. 
He has loved me as if — there, Ned ! I would not have it 
otherwise, and Fll not vex thee with the aftermath of self- 
disdain there’ll be.” 

They could hear the horsemen massing in the courtyard 
without. They glanced toward the door, then at each other, 
and Wayne drew the girl closer to him. 

“ Once more, Janet — wilt let us ride up to Wild water, and 
carry it by storm ? ” he cried. 

Nay ! Bring thy folk into hall here, and bide — bide, 
Ned, I tell thee ; ’tis wit, not swords, to-night. — Go ! They 
are knocking at the door. Tell me where the parlour lies, 
dear lad, and I’ll wait there till Nell comes back to take my 
place.” 

“To take thy place ? ” echoed Wayne, and tried still to hold 
her, though the knocking from without grew more peremptory. 

But she slipped from him, and crossed to the further door, 
and found Nanny Witherlee standing on the threshold. It 
was plain from the little old woman’s face that she had 
watched the scene, and she made way for Janet with a half 
curtsey that had a world of mockery in it. The girl went 
by without a word ; but her cheeks tingled with a shame she 
could not hide. If such as Nanny Witherlee could cry out 
on her love for Wayne, how would she fare with his own 
kinsfolk ? 

“ So, Maister — ’tis sweet an’ hot, belike,” said Nanny, 
meeting Wayne’s eyes across the hall. “ Ay, but ’tis a down- 
hill road, for all that, and an unchancy.” 

Wayne answered nothing, but went to the great main door 
and flung it wide, letting in a stream of light from the moon 
new risen over Worm’s Hill. A trampling crowd of horses, 


AND WHAT CHANCED AT MARSH 287 


backed by wide-shouldered fellows, filled the courtyard. 
Grift’s voice could be heard, shrill and clear, and Wayne of 
Cranshaw was stooping to batter on the oak again just as his 
cousin opened to him. 

We’re ready, Ned. Why dost hold back, lad, and keep 
us shivering here ? ” cried Rolf. 

“ Because there’s to be no attack just yet. Get down from 
saddle, friends, and drink a measure with me here in hall.” 


; CHAPTER XXIII 


HOW WAYNE KEPT FAITH 

Nell Wayne, prisoned close in the little room at Wild- 
water which looked out from its narrow, cobwebbed window 
upon the waste of Ling Crag Moor, watched the sun lower 
hour by hour — watched him change from white to yellow, 
from yellow to full sunset red — watched the heath grow 
gloaming-dim and lighten again at the bidding of the white- 
faced moon. But still her captors made no sign, and still she 
was racked with fear lest each moment should bring Ned on a 
forlorn hope of rescue. The very nearness of the moor, 
with its far-reaching air of freedom, seemed but an added 
mockery ; yet every now and then she turned anew to the 
window, and rubbed it freer each time of dust and cobwebs, 
and looked out eagerly in search of the help that would not 
come. From time to time she wondered what had chanced 
to the girl who had made her such fair promises of deliver- 
ance; and then she told herself that Janet, after all, had been 
but mocking her. 

“ ’Tis sharp,” she murmured, fingering the dagger which 
Janet had left with her. There’ll be time, it may be, for 
two fair strokes — one in Red Ratcliffe’s heart and another in 
my own. Love of the Virgin, do I care so much for life, 
when all’s said ? The days have not run so smooth of late 
that I covet more of them.” 

A bat, fluttering unclean out of the pregnant night, swept 
against the window-pane, startling the girl out of her musings. 
For a moment it hovered there, and the moonlight showed her 
its dark wings, its evil head and twinkling, star-bright eyes. 

’Tis a vampire,” she whispered, crossing herself. They say 
the pool breeds such. What if it should break through ” 

She lost her fanciful terror and turned sharply to the door ; 
for the Lean Man’s voice mingled with Red RatclifFe’s in the 
passage without, and her brother’s name was on their lips. 

I tell you, sir, Wayne loves the girl,” said Red RatclifFe 
288 


HOW WAYNE KEPT FAITH 


289 


testily; ‘‘he had liefer do himself a wanton hurt than Janet, 
and ’tis a fooPs bargain to let Nell Wayne go in exchange for 
her.” 

“And I tell thee, puppy, that thou know’st little of Wayne 
nowadays. We’ve killed his courtesy, and there’s naught 
he’ll stick at — naught. I said he would find a way out — I said 
’twas useless striving ” 

“ And useless it is like to be if we meet him always in this 
spirit.” 

“ Fool ! We have met him all ways — with light hearts and 
with heavy, with force and guile, with many men and few — 
Give me the key ! ” he broke off roughly. “ This girl goes 
scatheless — and for her safer conduct I’ll take her down my- 
self to Marsh.” 

Nell caught her breath as she listened to the voices, raised 
high in dispute, which spoke to her of safety. Was she 
mazed with the long confinement, or were the voices real ? 

“ Then you are willing, sir, to accept so curt and uncivil a 
message as Wayne sent hither ? ” went on Red RatclifFe, sul- 
lenly. “ You are willing to give them cause for boasting — ay, 
and to put your own life in their hands by going to Marsh ? 
The messenger we sent returns not — will Wayne do less to 
you ? ” 

“ The messenger is not slain that we know of ; he may be 
drinking in some wayside tavern, for unless he were a very 
fool his horsemanship would carry him free of Wayne after 
he had shouted his message, as I bade him, from the lane.” 

“ Well, he comes not back. And you, sir ? Is your life 
of such little moment to us ” 

“ Thou’rt a babe,” broke in the Lean Man. “ Some things 
a Wayne will do for the feud’s sake, and some he could not 
do. He has promised safe conduct, and if I go down with 
the lass, I shall return in safety. The Waynes — plague rot 
them ! — keep faith, whatever else they do or leave undone.” 

At a loss still to comprehend the meaning of it, Nell was 
conscious of a flush of pride. Even their foes, it seemed, 
gave her folk credit for scrupulous observance of their word — 
ay, the Lean Man admitted it, steeped as he was in subtlety 
and lies. But how came this about ? Had Janet, in trying 
to save her been captured by Shameless Wayne ? It must be 
so. A quick thought came to her then, that Ned could not 


290 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


love the girl so madly, after all, if he were willing to make 
her a cat’s-paw with which to outwit his adversaries. 

She was still turning the thought over, well pleased with it, 
when the voices in the passage ceased disputing 5 the key 
grated in the lock, and the door moved slowly open. 

‘‘ Come with me. Mistress Wayne ; there’s a horse ready 
saddled to take you down to Marsh,” said the Lean Man. 

‘‘ Sir, am I free ? Or is this a fresh trick, to make my 
case seem harder for a sight of freedom ? ” 

“ ’Tis no trick. Come, Mistress ! Time slips by, and 
there’s one awaiting me at Marsh who’s worth fifty such as 
thou.” 

His grufFness pleased her, for it rang true ; and so, without 
question or demur, she followed him down the passage and 
out into the courtyard. He lifted her to the saddle, mounted 
the big bay that always carried him, and together they rode 
out in silence across the moor. The moon glanced silver- 
black across the heather; the gullies were full of whispering 
winds, alive with the sob and fret of running water; and 
more than once the Lean Man shivered, as if the night’s quiet 
eeriness weighed heavy on his fears. 

How comes all this ? ” asked Nell, as they drew near to 
Barguest Lane. 

‘‘Ask your folk that. Mistress. A message came through 
one of my hinds that Janet was held at Marsh ; your safety 
was matched ’gainst hers; it is no good-will of mine that has 
brought you hither. — Yonder is Marsh,” he broke off, point- 
ing down the hill. “ Lord God, how I hate the fair, quiet 
look of it ! ” 

“ We are honoured by such hate, sir,” said Nell. — “ Have 
a care ! The road is sadly over-full of stones,” she added, as 
the bay horse stumbled badly. 

The dead RatclifFe had been taken indoors, and neither 
Nicholas nor his companion had leisure to note the signs of 
bloodshed that lay this side the closed gate of the courtyard. 

“ A RatclifFe ! A RatclifFe ! ” yelled the Lean Man, with 
a thought that the old cry would bring them quickly to the 
gate. 

And soon, indeed, there was a rush of feet across the court- 
yard, a rattle of swords snatched hastily from the scabbard, the 
hum of many voices. 


HOW WAYNE KEPT FAITH 


291 


Peste ! The whole swarm has settled in the Marsh hive,” 
muttered Nicholas, glancing doubtfully at Nell. ‘‘Was la 
fool, then, to trust to the Wayne honour ? ” 

“ No man has ever repented such folly, sir. If you raise 
the feud-cry to win peaceable entry, can you grumble that 
they come out armed to welcome you ? ” 

He hesitated, wondering whether to take Nell’s bridle and 
make a dash for safety. But the gates were flung wide open 
before he could turn, and Shameless Wayne stood bareheaded 
in the moonlight, a score of his folk behind him. Wayne 
stopped on seeing the Lean Man alone with Nell, and his 
sword, half-lifted, fell trailing to the ground. 

“ Do you come in peace ? ” he asked. 

“ I come in peace,” answered the Lean Man bitterly. 
“Give me your captive, Wayne of Marsh, and take your 
sister.” 

“Was this your doing, Nicholas RatclifFe ?” went on the 
other. “Was it you who carried Mistress Nell to Wild- 
water ? ” 

Nicholas found a sour pleasure in assuming a credit that 
was not rightly his. “ ’Twas my doing,” he answered hardily. 
And the Waynes, seeing him stand fearless before the score of 
them, sent up a low murmur of applause. 

“ Then mark well the oath I swear. By the Brown Dog, 
I’ll hunt you day and night, and night and day, till I force 
combat from you. Get ye gone, lean thief, lest I break faith 
and fall upon you now.” 

“ And if Ned fails, then I’ll take on the hunt,” cried Rolf 
Wayne of Cranshaw, stepping forward. 

The Lean Man cast a scared glance across the courtyard at 
mention of the Dog. He could see the wide doorway of the 
house, dark in the mellow moonlight, and he recalled the hour 
when he had ridden down to fix the badge of feud above the' 
threshold and had unwittingly crossed Barguest as he drove 
home the nail. A deadly faintness seized him ; but the hated 
folk were watching him, and he forced the weakness off. 

“ Hunt when ye will, and where ye will ; I shall be ready,” 
he answered, and led Nell’s horse with great show of cere- 
mony into the yard, and put the bridle into her brother’s 
hand. — “ Now, sir, make good your own half of the bargain.” 

A shadow crossed Wayne’s face, as he turned and moved 




SHAMELESS WAYNE 


silently toward the house. Nell would have entered with him, 
but he checked her roughly. 

I have a word for Mistress Janet’s ear,” he said. 

On a sudden the meaning of her unlooked-for escape grew 
clear to her. Janet had gone of her own free-will to Marsh, 
and it needed but a glance at Ned’s face to tell her what had 
followed the girl’s coming. The joy of freedom, her gladness 
in returning to the home she had scarce looked to see again, 
died out; she was supplanted, and by one whom it was dis- 
honour for a Wayne to touch. 

Janet was not in hall, but Wayne found her, after a hurried 
search, standing at the garden-door, plucking the roses that 
grew above her head and tearing them to pieces one by one. 

^‘Thou — must go, Janet,” he said, touching her on the 
arm. 

Yes,” she answered dully. 

The Lean man is at the gate ; he has brought Nell with 
him.” 

Yes, Ned.” 

God, lass, how dare I let thee out of sight ! ” he cried, his 
studied coldness breaking down. 

Something of the devil that is in every woman prompted 
the girl to tempt him. He had mastered her, and even yet she 
grudged it him ; there would be a sort of reprisal in trying his 
strength to the utmost. 

Keep me, Ned,” she whispered. Keep me, dear, and 
think no shame to break faith with a Ratcliffe. — Hark, Ned, 
how soft the garden-breezes are — and the roses ; are they not 
heavy on the air ? Let’s wander down among them, and talk 
of the days to come.” 

Her heart failed her as she saw his agony. He did not 
glance at her, nor speak, but stood looking straight before 
him as he put honour in the balance and marvelled that it 
weighed so light. 

Is that thy wish, girl ” he asked hoarsely. 

‘‘Nay, ’tis neither thy wish nor mine,” she cried with a 
troubled laugh. “ Forgive me, Ned ; I — I tempted thee for 
wantonness. There ! Bid me farewell, dear ; ’tis idle to 
make the parting harder.” 

As they gained the hall he stopped, and held his arms wide 
for her. “ Once again, Janet — thy master he muttered. 


HOW WAYNE KEPT FAITH 


293 


My master — to the end, dear lad. There shall none take 
thy place, however ill it fares with me ; and when need comes, 
ril send for thee. — But, Ned, thou’lt promise to do naught 
rash ? Move slowly — and wait till I can come to thee with 
the best chance of safety.” 

She slipped from his grasp and ran quickly out, brushing 
against Nell Wayne as she crossed to the gate. 

“ Good even to you. Mistress. Shall I offer thanks for the 
night’s work you’ve done ? ” said Nell. 

I should accept none,” answered the other, in the same 
hard voice. 

The Waynes opened their ranks to let her pass through, 
and one offered her a hand to mount by ; and just as they 
were starting. Shameless Wayne came to the Lean Man’s 
crupper, a brimming flagon in his hands. 

You came in peace, and I’ll not have it said you 
lacked any of the usages of peace,” said Wayne, holding the 
flagon up. 

My faith, you traffic in niceties ! ” muttered the Lean 
Man. ‘‘ ’Tis the first wine-cup any of your house has offered 
me these score years past.” 

‘‘ And ’twill be the last, belike, for another score ; so drink 
deep, sir, while you have the chance.” 

Nicholas turned the flagon upside down with sudden spleen, 
and watched the stones darken as the wine splashed on to 
them. When I drink out of your cup, Wayne of Marsh,” 
he said, ‘‘ I shall lack wine more than ever I lacked it yet.” 

They set off, he and Janet, and once only the girl turned 
for a last look at Wayne. 

He watched them ride over the crest of Barguest Lane, and 
his lips moved to the instinctive cry, ‘‘Come back, come 
back ! ” And when his kinsfolk presently began to talk of 
riding home, since there would be no further need of them for 
that night at least, he did not urge them stay and pledge Nell’s 
safe return. He wished to be alone with the madness that 
had fallen on him, wished to take counsel how to rive Janet 
once for all from Wildwater, and marry her, and hold her in 
despite of his folk and her own. 

He stood idly in the courtyard while they got to horse, and 
Nell, seeing him apart from the rest, came to his side. 

“So thou hast let all else go — all save Janet ? ” she said. 


294 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


Ay, I have let all else go,” he answered ; and if thou 
canst say aught against it, Nell, after she has plucked thee out 
of certain ruin — why, thou’rt less than my thoughts of thee.” 

‘‘ ’Tis carrying thankfulness a far way, Ned. — And what 
of our kin ? Will they smile on the match, think ye ? ” 

They may smile or frown, as best pleases them.” 

She was about to break into some hot speech, but he 
checked her. Sleep on it, Nell ; ’tis wiser. There are things 
said in heat sometimes that can never be forgot. — Well, Rolf, 
hast come to say thy farewells to Nell ? Od’s life. I’ll make 
no third at any such parting of maid and man.” 

^‘Stay, lad, for I’ve come to tell thy sister that I’ll have no 
more delays,” said Wayne of Cranshaw, and thou’lt add thy 
voice to mine, I fancy. Am I to wait and wait for thee, Nell, 
until every RatclifFe of them all comes down to carry thee 
off?” 

He had expected the old tale of duties that must keep her 
yet awhile at Marsh. But she offered no excuse, as she came 
and put her hand in his. 

There’s no place for me now at Marsh,” she said ; ‘‘ I’ll 
go with thee, Rolf, at thy own good time.” 

No place for thee at Marsh ? ” he echoed. 

None. Ned is to marry Mistress Ratcliffe by and by, 
and ” 

Is this true, Ned ? ” said Wayne of Cranshaw sharply. 

‘‘ It is true that I’ve plighted troth with Mistress Ratcliffe ; 
it is false that there is no place for Nell at Marsh,” said 
Shameless Wayne, and turned on his heel. 

But that one glance of Rolf’s had given him a foretaste of 
what lay ahead. Nell was implacable ; his kin would be im- 
placable; her own folk would do their best to thwart the 
match. 

‘‘They say a Wayne of Marsh loves alway to stand alone,” 
he muttered, as he returned to' hall. “Well, I care not 
who’s against me now.” 

He glanced at the moonlight streaming through the latticed 
windows, and thought of how Janet had lain there in his 
arms while they snatched a moment’s grace from feud. Then, 
restless still, he crossed to the garden-door, from over which 
the roses were dropping white petals in the lap of a slow- 
stirring breeze. It was here that Janet had stood with the 


HOW WAYNE KEPT FAITH 


295 


moon-softness in her eyes and had tempted him to sell his 
honour. He pictured her going up to the moor — up and 
further up — nearer to the red folk of Wildwater; and the 
strength which had saved his pride seemed wildest folly now. 

Through the garden he went, now harking back to what 
had passed, now fancying new perils that might be lying in 
wait for Janet. The kitchen door was open as he drew near; 
through it he could see the rushlights flickering on the faces 
of the shepherds as they ate with greedy relish or lifted brim- 
ming pewters to their frothy lips. 

At another time there would have been song and jest ; 
shepherd Jose would have been to the fore with tales of yester- 
year; the women would have laughed more loudly and kept 
sharper tongues for over-pressing swains. But to-night their 
merriment was soured by what had gone before it ; and, 
though the Mistress had come back safe to Marsh, they could 
not forget how nearly she had been dishonoured. 

At another time, too, Wayne would have gone amongst 
them to drink his due measure of October and set the glees 
a-going; but his heart was not in it, and he held aloof. 
Leaning idly against the garden-wall, he watched them at their 
meat, and let their talk drift past him while he asked himself, 
again and again, what end they would find, Janet and he, to 
their wind-wild wooing. 

Now and then he pushed the matter from him and turned, 
for lack of better company, to listen to the gossip of his 
farm-folk. He heard each detail of the morning’s fight de- 
scribed, repeated, and described again, till he wearied of it and 
half turned to go indoors again. Yet still he dallied. 

Wheer’s th’ Maister, like ? I could right weel like to 
set een on him,” said Jose the shepherd, breaking a long si- 
lence. 

“ Ay, a feast’s no feast at all without th’ Maister comes to 
drink his share,” cried one of the younger men. — ‘‘What, 
Hiram, mun I pass thee th’ jug again ? For one that’s no 
drinker tha frames as weel as iver I see’d a man.” 

Hiram filled his pewter and all but emptied it before he 
spoke. 

“ He’ll noan show hisseln this side o’ th’ door to-neet, 
willun’t th’ Maister,” he said slowly. “ He’s getten summat 
softer to think on nor sich poor folk as ye an’ me.” 


296 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


Wayne flushed under the moonlight and muttered a low 
oath ; but he would not move away, for the whim took him to 
hear the worst these yokels had to say. 

‘‘ Oh, ay ? ” put in one of the wenches. What dost 
mean, Hiram ? Tha’rt alius so darksome i’ thy speech.” 

‘‘What should I mean ? We knaw by this time, I reckon, 
what hes chanced. D’ye think snod Mistress RatclifFe came 
an’ swopped herseln just out o’ love for Mistress Nell ? Not 
she ; ’twas for love o’ Maister hisseln, if I know owt.” 

“ Tha’rt bitter, Hiram,” cried Martha. “ An’ thee to hev 
fought for him nobbut a few hours gone by ! ” 

Hiram spoke in a tone which Martha had heard more than 
once before — a grave, troubled voice that had a certain dignity 
of its own. “ I’m bitter, lass, an’ tha says right,” he went 
on. “ He shaped like a man, did th’ Maister, up at th’ wesh- 
ing-pools, an’ I warmed to him. But what then ? Nanny 
Witherlee telled me, just afore she gat her back to Marsh- 
cotes, that she’d crossed to th’ hall a while sin’, an’ fund th’ 
pair on ’em — nay, it fair roughens me to think on ’t.” 

“ Well, an’ let ’em do as they’ve a mind to, poor folk, says 
I,” put in Martha. “ She’s no RatclifFe, isn’t Mistress Janet, 
not at th’ heart of her.” 

“ She carries th’ name, choose what, an’ that’s enough to 
mak most on us hod our nostrils tight. Well, he war born 
shameless, an’ shameless he’s like to dee.” 

“ I doan’t believe it ! ” cried shepherd Jose, striking his 
pewter on the table. “ That’s an owd tale o’ thine an’ 
Nanny’s, Hiram, but I’m ower fond o’ th’ Maister myseln to 
think he’d do owt so shameless-crazy as wed a RatclifFe. Ay, 
tha should bite thy tongue ofF for whispering sich a thing.” 

Again Wayne lifted his head and looked straight in through 
the doorway, himself unseen across the moonlit strip of yard 
which stood between the garden and the kitchen. Hiram’s 
wryness was no more to him than the thistle-burrs which 
waited for him during any of his usual walks about the fields ; 
but the shepherd’s plain kindliness toward him, the shepherd’s 
quiet assurance that there could be naught ’twixt Janet and 
himself, touched him to the quick. In vain he mocked him- 
self for hearkening to what such folk as these could find to 
say of him ; he stayed stone-still, his arms upon the rounded 
garden-wall, and heard them wear the matter threadbare with 


HOW WAYNE KEPT FAITH 


297 

their talk. And there was not one — save Martha — who 
augured less than disaster from the match. 

Good hap, my very dogs will turn next and look askance 
at me,” muttered Wayne. 

But still he did not move, for he had plumbed the bottom 
depth of weariness to-night, and it was easier to stay hearken- 
ing to distasteful gossip than to turn to the ill company of his 
own thoughts. Work had succeeded fight and loss of blood ; 
and close after these had followed his anxiety on Nell’s be- 
half, his sudden yielding to the passion that had dogged his 
path all through the uphill months; then had come the 
struggle with his honour, the victory that was worse than de- 
feat, and, last of all, the chill glances of those who were his 
nearest kin. Aged as he had grown of late, his youth was 
slow to die outright, and the quick ebb and flow of passion 
had left him weak to bend to the touch of his surroundings ; 
and the chatter of these farm-folk, who condemned him in 
such frank, straightforward terms, seemed the last straw added 
to his burden. 

They left talking of him by and by, as the ale began to 
warm them and frolic pressed for outlet. Little by little the 
Master lost his own cares in watching their rustic comedy 
played out ; from time to time he smiled ; and once, when 
Martha encouraged shepherd Jose too patently at the expense 
of Hiram, he laughed outright. Heretofore Wayne had been 
friendly with his servants in his own proud way ; but to-night 
it was borne in upon him how like their betters, after all, were 
these rough-speeched folk. The same jealousies were theirs, 
the same under-fret of passion, veiled by banter or rude co- 
quetry ; and they, too, reared a score of stumbling-blocks, 
feigned or real, about the path of wedlock. 

The night was wearing late meanwhile, and the farm-folk 
got to their feet at length and shuffled out by twos and threes 
— some to return to outlying farms or shepherds’ huts far up 
the moor, others to less distant farms. Martha came to the 
gate to give them a God-speed, with Hiram Hey beside her, 
and it was long before the last shout of farewell died echoing 
up the moor. 

Perhaps it was the ale he had drunk ; perhaps it was 
Martha’s flouting of him throughout the evening in favour 
of shepherd Jose; but for one cause or the other Hiram 


298 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


showed less than his wonted hesitation as he drew nearer to 
her in the moonlit yard. Their faces were turned sideways 
to the Master, and neither noted his quiet figure leaning against 
the wall. 

Martha, ’tis a drear house, this. Pm thinking,” said Hiram. 

“ Ay, but it’s all the roof Pve getten.” 

“ ’Tis as full o’ dead men’s ghosts as it can hod, an’ nobbut 
to-neet there war one more ligged quiet beside th’ gate, as if 
th’ owd place fare went hungering for bloodshed an’ sudden 
death.” 

‘^Well, Hiram?” 

He pointed down the fields to where, in a snug-sheltered 
hollow, the gable-end of his own farm climbed up into the 
moon-mists. 

‘‘ Yond’s a likelier spot, an’ quieter, for a wench,” he said. 

Sakes, Hiram ! Tha’rt noan so backard-like i’ coming 
forrard, when all’s said.” 

Hiram was quiet for a space, and the Master could see a 
laughable air of doubt steal into his face as he ruifled the frill 
of hair that framed his smooth-shaved chin. 

‘‘ An’ then,” put in Martha softly, there’s even a quieter 
spot nor yond that mud varry weel be mine for th’ axing.” 

Hiram Hey ceased doubting. What, dost mean that owd 
fooil Jose wod like to tak thee to th’ wind-riven barn he calls 
a house ? ” 

Summat o’ th’ sort, Hiram — ay, he’d be fain, wod shep- 
herd Jose. An’ if th’ house be i’ a wildish spot — well, ’tis 
farther out o’ harm’s way.” 

That sattles it. Wilt wed me afore th’ corn ripens, lass, 
an’ come to yond snug bigging dahn i’ th’ hollow ? ” 

“ I reckon I will, lad. Why didst not axe me plain afore ? ” 

Then Hiram kissed her, under the left ear ; and the Master, 
forgetting that they did not count upon a listener, laughed out- 
right. Martha turned, with cheeks aflame like the peonies 
newly-opened in the garden place behind her; and Hiram 
lost his calmness for the moment. 

‘‘Thou dost well, Hiram,” said the Master drily. “Love 
while thou canst, for thou’d’st better make the most of what 
few years are left thee.” 

Hiram took the stroke staunchly, knowing it was the re- 
turn-thrust for many a home-blow he had given Wayne. 


HOW WAYNE KEPT FAITH 


299 


‘‘An’ so I hed, Maister,” he answered, not shifting a 
muscle of his face — “ by wedding one that counts no red folk 
i’ her family.” 

The Lean Man and Janet had been riding slowly home 
while Wayne sat listening to the shepherds’ gossip; and as 
they went up Barguest Lane Nicholas had bent toward his 
grand-daughter with more than his wonted tenderness. 

“Janet, girl, ’tis good to know thou’rt safe again,” he said. 
“ What would Wildwater be without thee ? ” 

She did not answer, but turned her head away a little ; and 
so they rode on in silence until they reached the open moor. 
The old man shivered then, and glanced behind with the quick 
gesture she had learned to know. 

“ I had forgotten it,” he muttered. — “ Didst hear aught in the 
wind, Janet ? ” 

“I heard a moor-bird calling, sir, and the rustle of dry 
heather-stalks.” 

“Naught else? No sound, say, of a hound baying down 
the lane ? ” 

“ There’s a farm-dog barking at the moon ; that is all.” 

He straightened in the saddle. “To be sure ! When a 
fool is old, he’s past praying for, eh, girl ? Yet — is yond 
brown shadow going to fare to Wildwater with us ? ” 

“So long as there’s a moon to cast it, sir.” 

Another silence, while a mile of heath slipped underneath 
their hoofs. 

“They bade me keep Nell Wayne, and let thee take thy 
chance,” said Nicholas presently. “ Think of it, Janet ! To 
wake in the morning and have no slip of sunshine like thyself 
to come down to.” 

“ Grandfather, it — it hurts me to hear you praise me so.” 

“ Why, what ails thee ? Cannot I praise the one thing on 
God’s earth that I love, without hurting thee ? ” 

Yes, she must tell him all. All the way up it had been 
borne in on her that she would let the deceit go no further. 
She owed no less than frankness to him, and he should have 
it, though afterward he struck her to the ground. They were 
alone with the sky and the wind ; the hour, the dim-lying 
spaces of the moor, encouraged confidence. She had chosen 
her road — but at least she would start fair on it, honest as the 
man who had her love in keeping. Quietly, without shrink- 


300 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


ing or appeal, she told him all — how she used to meet Shame- 
less Wayne by stealth, how she had given him warning, how, 
lastly, she had to-night ridden down to Marsh and surrendered 
herself into Wayne’s hands. 

The Lean Man was very quiet when she had finished, and 
not till they were skirting the dull ooze of Wild water pool 
did he break silence. I had rather have shovelled the earth 
above thy dead body, girl,” he said, checking his horse at the 
brink. 

She watched his face working fantastically as he stared into 
the water. Mechanically she traced the scars of fire, the lump 
of discoloured flesh that marked where his right ear had been 
shorn level with the cheek; and she told herself that Wayne 
of Marsh was answerable for both. His anger, gathering 
slowly, was terrible to meet. 

What is’t to thee that my heart is broken ? ” he went on. 

I could set finger and thumb to thy throat, girl, but would 
that heal my own hurts? The care I’ve given thee, the con- 
stant thought — womanish thought — the way I shamed myself 
by opening to thee all my secret fears.” He laughed drily. 
‘‘ Barguest ? Methinks thou hast killed him, lass, with a 
worse sickness. Hark ye ! This shall not be. I’ve sap in 
my veins yet, and I’ll cheat thee of thy lover before I die.” 

Sir, is this the love you have for me ? What has Wayne 
ever done that you should not cry ^ peace ’ and let our mar- 
riage staunch the feud ? ” 

^^What has he done? He has fooled me, beaten mein 
fight, robbed me of more than life. Is that naught, or must I 
fawn on him and thank him for good service rendered in wed- 
ding Janet RatclifFe ? Thou hast heard of Sad Man’s Luck, 
girl ? It comes to those who have lost all, and it nerves them 
to strange deeds.” 

He moved forward, Janet following ; and as they waited for 
the gates to be thrown open, he gave the low, hard laugh 
which never yet had boded good to man or woman. 

^^The luck has veered at last,” he said quietly. “Wayne 
will begin to fear for himself, now that he has thee to unman 
him. His pluck will get tied to thy apron, lass, and he will 
quaver a little in his sword-strokes — what, did I say thou 
hadst broken my heart ? I lied. Thou hast put new heart in 
me. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


HOW THE LEAN MAN FOUGHT WITH SHAMELESS WAYNE 

Sexton Witherlee moved unsubstantial among his graves, 
stopping here to pull up a tuft of weed and there to rub a 
sprig of lavender or rosemary between his shrivelled fingers. 
He looked old beyond belief, and the afternoon sun, hot in a 
sweltering sky, traced crow’s feet of sadness across his cheeks, 
and in among the sunken hollows underneath his eyes. 

What’s amiss wi’ me ? ” he murmured. Here hev I 
been gay as a throstle all through this God-sent-weather — 
going about my business wi’ a quiet sort o’ pleasure i’ seeing 
this little garden-place look so green, like, an’ trim-fashioned 
— so green an’ trim — an’ now, all i’ a minute. I’m sick-like 
an’ sorry. Ay, I could cry like any bairn, an’ niver a reason 
for ’t, save it be this thunner-weather that’s coming up fro’ 
ower Dead Lad’s Rigg. — Well, I mun hev a bit of a smoke, 
an’ see what that ’ull do for me.” 

He lit his pipe, then fetched a broom from the tool-house 
and began to sweep the path of the leaves which had fallen, 
curled and brown, during the long spell of drought. But he 
desisted soon and sat him down on the nearest grave-stone. 

‘‘ Nay, I’ve sweated ower long at helping th’ living to bury 
their dead out o’ mind, till now there’s no lovesome sight, nor 
sound, nor smell of sweetbriar, say — but what it leads my 
crazy thoughts to th’ one bourne — th’ one bourne — an’ that’s 
a blackish hole, measuring six feet by length an’ three by 
breadth. Lord God, I’m stalled, fair stalled ! Hevn’t I toiled 
enough at life ? An’ th’ Lord God knaws how fain I am to 
be ligging flesh to earth myseln.” 

He sat silent for a long while, and his favourite robin came 
and perched on his shoulder, asking him to dig up its evening 
meal ; but Witherlee paid no heed to the bird. 

I reckon it’s a sight o’ little Mistress Wayne I’m sicken- 
ing for,” he went on presently. When she war fairy-kist, 
she niver let day pass without heving her bit of a crack wi’ 

301 


302 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


th’ Sexton ; but now she’s fund her wits again — why, she 
hesn’t mich need o’ th’ likes o’ me, seemingly. Eh, but I 
wod like to hear her butter-soft voice again ! There’s peace 
in ’t, somehow, to my thinking.” 

Oh, tha’rt theer, art ’a ? ” put in Nanny’s voice at his el- 
bow. 

‘‘ Begow, tha made me jump ! What is’t, Nanny ? ” 

Nay, I nobbut came for a two-three sprigs o’ rosemary. 
It grows rare an’ sweet i’ th’ kirkyard here, I call to mind, an’ 
Mistress Nell, ’at I’ve nursed fro’ a babby, is bahn to be wed 
to-morn to Wayne o’ Cranshaw — sakes, how th’ days run by ! 
— an’ she’ll be wanting rosemary to wear ower her heart i’ 
sign o’ maidenhood. Well, I’d like to see one who’s more a 
maid, or bonnier, i’ all th’ parish — an’ I’ll thank thee, With- 
erlee, to stir thy legs a bit for fear they’ll stilFen for want o’ 
use. What mak o’ use is a gooidman, if he willun’t stir 
hisseln to pluck a two-three herbs ? ” 

The Sexton rose with his old habit of obedience, and went 
to the corner where the rosemary grew, and brought her both 
hands full. 

’Tis queer. I’ve often thowt,” he said ; ‘‘ we all knaw 
what mak o’ soil grows under foot here — ^yet out on ’t come 
th’ sweetest herbs i’ Marshcotes. An’ that’s a true pictur o’ 
life, as I’ve fund it through three-score year an’ ten.” 

What’s tha knaw about life ? ” snapped Nanny. Death 
is more i’ thy way, an’ tha’ll be a wise man, Witherlee, sooin 
as tha comes to join th’ ghosties. — Not but what there’s sense 
for once i’ what tha says. Sweetness grows i’ muck, an’ ye 
can’t get beyond that ; an’ if onybody thinks to say it isn’t so, 
let ’em look at Shameless Wayne, an’ set him beside what he 
war afore th’ feud broke out.” 

Ay, he’s better for th’ fighting,” put in Witherlee, with 
something of his wonted zest. 

Fighting ? I reckon nowt on ’t. All moil, an’ mess, an’ 
litter — gaping wounds that drip on to th’ floors just when ye’ve 
bee’s-waxed ’em — women crying their een out, an’ lossing so 
mich time, ower them ’at’s goan — ’tis mucky soil, I tell thee, 
Luke. An’ yet, begow, it hes bred summat into Shameless 
Wayne that he niver hed afore.” 

“ They say him an’ th’ Lean Man is hunting one t’ other 
fro’ morn to neet, but alius seem to tak different roads. 


HOW THE LEAN MAN FOUGHT 


303 

What’s come to th’ Lean Man, Nanny ? He war daunted a 
while back, an’ now he’s keen as ony lad again ! ” 

‘‘ Tha doesn’t knaw Barguest’s ways as I knaw ’em, lad. 
Th’ Dog, when he’s haunted a man nigh out of his senses, 
hods off for a bit, for sport, like, an’ maks him ’at he’s marked 
think th’ sickness is all owered wi’ — an’ then, when he’s 
thinking o’ summat else entirely, up th’ Brown Beast leaps, 
snarling fit to mak his blood run cold. — Ay, it’s true th’ Lean 
Man is hunting this day, for I met him riding into Marshcotes 
not a half-hour sin’, wi’ his een on both sides o’ th’ road at 
once, an’ his hand set tight on his sword-heft.” 

“ Did he say owt to thee, Nanny ? He’s noan just friendly 
to thee, an’ ” 

He said nowt to me,” broke in Nanny, but I said a deal 
to him. I asked if Barguest’s hide war as rough, an’ his teeth 
as sharp, as when he fought th’ owd feud for th’ Waynes. 
An’ he seemed fit to strike me first of all ; an’ then he sick- 
ened ; an’ at after that he rode forrard, saying nowt nawther 
one way nor t’ other. Well, he minds how his father died, 
an’ his father’s father; an’ he’ll be crazy again by fall o’ neet, 
if I knaw owt. It’s th’ Dog-days, an’ all, an’ th’ month when 
dogs run mad is Barguest’s holiday. I’ve noticed.” 

Tha mud weel say it’s th’ Dog-days,” said Witherlee, 
pointing to the moor above. ‘‘We shall hev sich a storm as 
nawther thee nor me hev seen th’ like on, Nanny, sin’ we war 
wedded.” 

From the moor-edge an angry haze was beating up against 
the wind, and the sun, a round ball that seemed dropping from 
the steel-blue of the sky above it, was cruel with the earth. 
Everywhere peatland and tillage-soil — the very graveyard 
earth — opened parched mouths and cried for drink. But still 
the sun shone, and only the slow-moving haze told of the rain 
to come. 

“ Ay, it ’ull be a staunch un,” said Nanny. “ Tha’d best 
come indoors, Witherlee, afore it breaks — for when it does 
break, buckets willun’t hod th’ drops, an’ tha’ll be drenched i’ 
crossing th’ kirkyard. — Why, there’s Mistress Wayne. If 
iver I see’d a body choose unlikely times, it’s yond little bit o’ 
sugar an’ spice.” 

Witherlee glanced eagerly down the graveyard path. “ Now, 
that’s strange,” he murmured. “ I war nobbut saying afore 


304 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


tha corned, Nanny, that I hadn’t hed speech of her this mony 
a day — an’ here she comes. Eh, but she’s a sight for sore 
een, is th’ bonnie bairn ! ” 

Nanny’s half-religious awe of Mistress Wayne was disap- 
pearing now that she had come to her right mind again. 

Nay,” she grumbled, I reckon nowt so mich on her. She 
war bahn to do a deal for th’ Maister, so I thowt; but what’s 
corned on ’t ? Nowt, save ’at she carried a fond tale to 
Mistress Nell a while back, an’ all but brought her into 
ruin. — Now, lad, art minded to get out o’ th’ wet that’s 
coming ? ” 

^^Nay, I’ll step indoors by an’ by, for I’m fain of a crack 
wi’ th’ little Mistress at all times.” 

Nanny glanced shrewdly at her husband ; something in his 
voice — a weariness that was at once helpless and resigned — 
brought an unwonted pity for him to the front. Impatient 
she was with him at most times ; but under all her fretfulness 
there was a sure remembrance of the days that had been. 

“ Luke,” she said, laying a hand on his sleeve, tha’rt 
nobbut poorly, I fear me. Stop for a word wi’ Mistress 
Wayne, if needs must, but don’t stand cracking till tha’rt wet 
to th’ bone.” 

Nay, I’ll noan stay long, lass — noan stay long,” he mur- 
mured. 

Nanny moved down toward her cottage, and the Sexton, 
sighing contentedly, gave a good-day to Mistress Wayne while 
yet she was half up the path. 

Ye’ve not been nigh me lately. Mistress,” he murmured, 
making room for her on the grave-stone which had grown to 
be their wonted seat. 

I have been restless, Sexton, and my walks have taken 
me far a-field. But to-day I’m tired, and full of fancies, and 
I thought ’twould be pleasant to sit beside thee here and talk.” 

“To be sure, to be sure. Ye’re looking poorly-like, an’ 
all ; it ’ull be this heavy weather, for I feel that low i’ sperrits 
myseln ” 

“ ’Tis more than the weather,” she interrupted, turning her 
grave child’s eyes on his. “ The mists begin to come down 
again, Sexton, as they did when my lover was killed yonder 
on the vault-stone. Sometimes I can see men and women as 
thou see’st them ; and then a mist steals over them, and they 


HOW THE LEAN MAN FOUGHT 


305 

are only shadows, and the ghosts creep out of the moor, mov- 
ing real among the unreal men and women.” 

‘‘That’s nobbut th’ second-sight,” said Witherlee gently. 
“ I’ve getten it, an’ ye’ve getten it. Mistress, an’ we’ve to pay 
our price for ’t. But it’s nowt to fret yourseln about.” 

“ Not when I hear Barguest — Barguest creeping pad-footed 
down the lane ? Sexton, I’ve heard him every night of late 
— just at dusk he comes, and if I pay no heed he presses like 
a cold wind against my skirts. Does it mean trouble for 
Wayne of Marsh, think’st thou ? ” 

“ Hev ye set een on th’ Dog ? ” asked Witherlee sharply. 

“ Nay, I have but heard him, and felt his touch.” 

“Then there’s danger near Wayne o’ Marsh, but nowt no 
more nor what he’ll come through. ’Tis when th’ Brown 
Dog shows hisseln ’at he doubts his power to save th’ Maister 
— he like as he seeks human help then, an’ it’s time for all as 
wish well to Marsh to be up an’ doing. — Begow, but we’d 
better be seeking shelter. Mistress.” 

She followed his glance, and shivered at that look of earth 
and heaven which they called in Marshcotes the scowl of 
God. To the west, whence the wind was gathering strength, 
the sky was a dull, blue-green ; from the east a tight-drawn 
curtain of cloud moved nearer to the sun, which shone with 
dimmed light and heat unbearable. Light drifts of cloud 
trailed like brown smoke between earth and sky. The whole 
wide land was still, save for quick breaths of suffocation 
which stirred the summer dust and whipped up the leaves un- 
timely fallen. 

“ I am frightened, Sexton. Let us go,” murmured Mis- 
tress Wayne. 

“All day I’ve watched it creeping up,” said Witherlee, re- 
garding with rapt eyes the eastern sky. “There’s storms as 
come quick, an’ go as lightly — but this un hes nursed its rage 
a whole long day, an’ when it bursts, ’twill be like Heaven 
tumbling into Hell-pit lire. Ay, I’ve seen one sich storm, an’ 
it bred bloodshed. See ye. Mistress, th’ first rain-drops fall ! 
An’ th’ streams that are dry this minute ’ull race bank-top 
high afore an hour is spent. An’ them as seeks for tokens 
need seek no farther.” 

Beyond the kirkyard hedge a horseman passed, fast riding 
at the trot. 


3o6 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


‘‘ What did I tell ye ! ” cried the Sexton. Th’ storm an’ 
th’ Lean Man ride together, an’ th’ streams that war empty 
shall be filled.” 

He must be hastening from the rain. See, Sexton, he 
rides as if pursued.” 

Witherlee remembered Nanny’s meeting with Nicholas. 
‘‘ It may be th’ rain he’s hastening fro’ — or it may be summat 
’at ye’ve heard whining. Mistress, when dusk is settling over 
Barguest Lane,” he said. 

For a while he stood there, nursing his visions and heedless 
of the gathering drops; then, seeing how Mistress Wayne 
was shivering, he came back to workaday matters. 

Come ye wi’ me. Mistress,” he cried. Th’ drops is 
falling like crown-pieces. — Good sakes, there’s another horse- 
man skifting out of th’ wet, or intul ’t ; who mud it be, like ? ” 

Shameless Wayne, riding up the field-side that ran from the 
Bull tavern to the moor, looked over and saw his step-mother 
standing beside the Sexton in the kirkyard. 

The clouds blow up against the wind. There’ll be thun- 
der, Witherlee,” said Wayne, and would have passed on. 

“Well, there’s one gooid thing ’ull come on ’t, ony way,” 
answered the Sexton. “ Th’ Lean Man o’ Wildwater is like 
to get wet to th’ bone afore he wins across th’ moor. An’ ye 
can niver tell but what a wetting may tak a man off — I’ve 
knawn mony a ” 

Wayne swung his horse round sharply. “The Lean Man! 
Hast seen him, then ? ” he cried. 

“Not ten minutes agone. He crossed up aboon there at a 
gooidish trot.” 

“ What, by the moor-track ” 

“ Nay, his face war set for th’ Ling Crag road ; he war 
hurrying, an’ wanted better foot-hold for his horse, I reckon, 
nor th’ peat ’ud gi’e him.” 

Mistress Wayne was at the wall-side now. “ Ned, thou’lt 
not ride after him ? ” she pleaded. “ ’Tis Nell’s wedding- 
day to-morrow — she’ll think it a drear omen.” 

But Wayne was already gathering the reins more firmly 
into his hand. “ Nell will want a wedding-gift, little bairn — 
and, by the Red Heart, I’ll bring her one of the choicest. — 
Sexton, shall I overtake him before he gets within hail of 
Wildwater ? ” 


HOW THE LEAN MAN FOUGHT 


307 

Wi’ that mare’s belly betwixt your legs, Maister, ye’d 
catch him six times ower.” 

Wayne stopped for no more, but touched the mare once 
with his heels and swung up the field and round the bend of 
the Ling Crag road. The Sexton looked after him and 
nodded soberly ; and it was strange to see his old eyes 
brighten, as if at the grave-edge he were turning back to see 
this one last fight. 

“ There’s more nor one storm brewing ; I said as mich,” 
he muttered, and hobbled to the wicket to see the flying trail 
of dust and rain that marked the rider’s headlong course. 

The wind rose on the sudden. The rain-drops fell by 
twos now where lately they had fallen singly. A far rumble 
of thunder crept dull through the leaden sky-wrack. 

Gallop, thou laggard, gallop ! ” muttered Wayne to his 
mare, as Ling Crag village swirled by and the rough track to 
Wildwater stretched clear ahead. 

The village folk came out of their houses as he passed, but 
they were slow of foot, and all that they reaped for their 
trouble was the fast-dying beat of horse-hoofs down the 
wind. 

‘‘Wayne, ’tis Shameless Wayne. Who but him carries 
Judgment-fire i’ his boss’s heels ? ” they said. 

Past Blackshaw Hall and through the Conie Crag ravine 
swept Wayne the Shameless ; past the three wells of Robin 
Hood and Little John and Will Scarlett, and up into the naked 
moor. The land lay flat to the sky up here, and through the 
thickening rain-sheets Wayne could see his enemy’s lean fig- 
ure rising and falling to the trot of his lean bay horse. Soon 
the track crept timorous round the bog, and under foot the 
water splashed and creamed; but still Wayne plied his mare 
with tongue and spur. The thunder-throb grew nearer, and 
muttered all along the murky sky-edge and down the dun 
moor-fastnesses. Earth and sky, bog and peat and cloud- 
wrack, were wakeful and at war ; the starveling moor-birds fled 
on down-drooping wings, and from the under-deeps the Brown 
Folk chattered restlessly. 

Wayne’s heart was lifted to the storm’s pitch as he rode. 
Ahead was the man who had made a shameful bargain touch- 
ing Janet, the man who had perilled his sister’s honour and 
warred with malice unceasing against his house. There was 


3o8 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


but a quarter-mile between them — and now but ten-score 
yards — yet Wildwater lay over yonder slope. 

‘‘Dost crawl, I tell thee, just when I need thy speed. 
Gallop, thou fool ! ” he muttered, then rose in the stirrups 
and raised a cry that might have roused the slumber of dead 
men in Marshcotes kirkyard. 

The Lean Man checked when he heard the cry, and looked 
behind; and Wayne lessened by the half the distance between 
horse and mare. 

“ Who calls ? ” yelled Nicholas Ratcliffe. 

“ Wayne of Marsh. Who else ? There are old debts be- 
tween us, Ratcliffe the Lean.” 

“ On both sides, Wayne the Shameless,” cried Nicholas, 
and turned the big bay’s head, and rode straight at his man 
with heavy sword uplifted. 

Between them, while they neared each other, a zag of light- 
ning flashed to earth, and Wayne’s cry as he galloped to the 
shock was drowned in a wild roar of thunder. He took the 
Lean Man’s stroke, and jerked his own sword back ; but the 
mare shied with terror, and his return blow aimed wide, graz- 
ing the Lean Man’s saddle-pommel as it fell. 

“ Thou aimest ill, lad. I thought a sword sat better in thy 
hand,” laughed Nicholas, as Wayne brought his mare round 
once more to the attack. 

The Lean Man had found his youth again, and in his heart, 
too, the storm-wind was singing shrill. Fear of the Dog 
slipped from him. He warmed to the old joy of hardened 
muscles and of crafty hand. 

“ ’Tis thou and I now, thou bantling,” he cried, plucking 
the curb as his beast reared its fore-feet to the sweltering sky. 
“ Does the Dog fear the storm, that it comes not up with thee 
to fight ? ” 

A second flash shot through the rain-sheets, and another 
roar snapped up the Lean Man’s words. Try as their riders 
would the horses refused obedience to the bit, for each flash 
and each new burst of thunder whetted the keen edge of their 
terror. Three times Wayne brought round the mare and 
strove to force her to the shock ; and three times she swerved 
out of sword’s-reach. 

“ God’s life, shall we never get to blows ! ” roared the Lean 
Man. “ Down, lad, and we’ll fight it out on foot.” 


HOW THE LEAN MAN FOUGHT 


309 


There was no gully of the moor now but hid a rolling 
thunder-growl. The streams raced foaming between their 
dripping banks, and all across the sky ran sinuous lines of 
blue-red fire, the harbingers of lightning-blasts to come or the 
aftermath of flashes spent. 

Yet neither Wayne nor the Lean Man knew if it were foul 
weather or fair, save that the rain dimmed their sight a little ; 
for each saw his dearest enemy across the narrow, sword- 
swept space between them that stood for the whole world. 
And now one gained the advantage, and now the other, while 
still they shifted back and forth, treading into great foot-holes 
the soaked bed of peat on which they stood. 

Above, the greater battle — the shock of hurrying clouds 
close-ranked against each other, the shriek and whistle of the 
wind, the down-descending sweat of combat. Below, the 
lesser battle, with smitten steel for lightning, and hard-won 
breaths for wind and thunder, and rage as fierce, and mon- 
strous, and unheeding, as any that smote the moor-face raw 
from yellow east to smouldering, ruddy west. 

‘‘I have thee, Wayne!” yelled Nicholas, as he cut down 
the other’s guard and aimed at his left side. 

‘‘Nay,” answered Wayne, and leaped aside so swiftly that 
the stroke scarce drew blood. 

A keener flash ripped up the belly of the sky as they fell to 
again, a nearer harshness crackled in the thunder’s throat; 
but naught served to quench the fury of the onset. Like men 
from the Sky-God’s loins they fought, and their faces glowed 
and dripped. 

But Wayne was forcing the battle now, and step by step 
the Lean Man was falling back for weariness. Harder and 
harder he pressed on him ; there was a moment’s pauseless 
whirr of cut and parry, and it was done. Shameless Wayne, 
seeing his chance, sprang up on tip-toe and lifted his blade 
high for the last bone-splittering stroke that is dear to a swords- 
man’s heart as life itself. 

And then a strange thing chanced, and a terrible. As his 
sword was half-way on the upward sweep, Wayne saw, 
through a blinding lightning-flash, the Lean Man’s blade 
shrink crumpling into a twisted rope of steel and the Lean 
Man’s arm fall like a stone to his side. He checked himself, 
with a strain that nigh wrenched the muscles of his back in 


310 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


sunder, and lowered his weapon, and cursed like one gone mad 
because the sky had opened to rob him of his blow. 

‘‘Your tale is told, Lean RatclifFe,’’ he said. “Had the 
storm so few marks for sport that it must needs rob me in the 
nick of vengeance ? ” 

The Lean Man tried to move his stricken arm, and his face 
showed ghostly-grey through the rain sheets while he mowed 
and mumbled at his impotence. But the old light shone 
quenchless in his weasel eyes, as he slid his left hand toward 
his belt, and clutched his dagger, and stumbled forward with 
the point aimed true for the other’s breast. But Wayne had 
never taken his eyes from him and he warded the stroke in 
time. 

“ ’Tis an old device of your folk, and one I know,” cried 
the younger man. “Your game is played out, lean thief of 
Wildwater — God pity me that I lack your own strength to 
kill a stricken man.” 

“ Curse thee, curse thee ! ” groaned Nicholas. “ Is that 
not an old Wayne device likewise ? Ay, and a mean device, 
when we would liefer take steel at your hands than quarter. 
Kill me, thou fool, least it be said I begged quarter of a 
Wayne.” 

Wayne eyed him gloomily. “Cease prating! I cannot 
kill you, and I cannot leave you to die among these howling 
moor-sprites. Can you sit in the saddle if I lift you to 't ? — 
Peste, though, the horses have taken to their heals. Can you 
frame to walk, then ? ” 

The Lean Man made a few steps forward, then stopped 
and seemed to stumble. “ Give me thy hand, Wayne, as far 
as Wildwater gates. I am weak, and cannot walk alone,” he 
mumbled. “There shall none of my folk do thee hurt — I 
swear it by the Mass.” 

Wayne saw through the trick, for he knew from those few 
forward steps that, though his enemy’s sword-arm was sapless 
as a rotten twig, his legs were firm to carry him. A touch of 
grim approval crossed his hate. This Lean Man had a grand- 
eur of his own ; maimed, defeated, worn with the fiercest bat- 
tle he had ever fought in his long life of combat, he could yet 
keep heart to the last and frame a quick stroke of guile when 
all weapons else had failed him. 

“ Featly attempted ! ” cried Wayne of Marsh. “ How your 


HOW THE LEAN MAN FOUGHT 


311 


folk would swarm about me when you got me to the gates ! 
And in what strange fashion they would keep me safe from 
hurt. Nay, Lean Man, I know the way the hair curls on the 
RatclifFe breed of hound.” 

The old man was silent, weaving a hundred useless sub- 
tleties. And then an exceeding bitter cry escaped him. 
‘‘ God curse thee, youngster ! The Dog fights for thee — my 
very children fight for thee — and now the sky opens to snatch 
thee out of hurt.” 

‘‘Nay,” answered Wayne, gravely, “for the blow was 
mine, and you know it.” 

And so they parted. And the storm howled ravening over 
the tortured waste. 


CHAPTER XXV 


AND HOW HE DRANK WITH HIM 

It was the morrow of Wayne’s fight with Ratcliffe of 
Wildwater, and he rode with his sister to her wedding. The 
past day’s storm was over, but the clouds hung grey and low- 
ering, spent with the battle, yet waiting to rally by and by 
for a fresh outburst. The day was scowling on the bride, folk 
said, and Nell herself would fain have seen one gleam at least 
of fair-omened sunlight. 

‘‘Well, lass, I have brought thee a wedding-gift of the 
choicest,” said Wayne, as they neared Marsh cotes village. 

“ And what is that, Ned ? ” Her voice was cold, for she 
would not forget how Janet Ratcliffe had supplanted her, had 
driven her into wedlock before she wished for it. 

“ What is it ? Why, the knowledge that the Lean Man 
has fought his last. I would not tell before, seeing thee so 
busy with thy bridal-wear — but yestereven we met on Ling 
Crag Moor, he and I, and fought it out.” 

The light came back to her eyes. “ Didst kill him ? ” she 
asked eagerly. 

“ Nay, for the storm robbed me. I had him, Nell, and just 
was striking when the lightning snatched my blow.” 

“ ’Tis well, Ned. I had liefer thou hadst given the blow — 
but he is dead, and I’ll take that thought to warm me through 
my bridal.” 

Wayne eyed her wonderingly, for he had looked for greater 
softness at such a time. “ He is not dead, lass ; his sword 
arm was crumpled — but for the rest, he could make shift to 
get him home.” 

“ Thou — didst — let him go ? ” Nell had come to a sudden 
halt, and her voice was low and passionate. 

“God’s life, what else could any man have done ? Wast 
bred a Wayne, Nell, or did some Ratcliffe foster-father teach 
thee to trample on a stricken man ? ” 

312 


AND HOW HE DRANK WITH HIM 313 


‘‘ Thou should’st have killed him/’ she answered, and went 
slowly forward. 

Again Wayne glanced at her. “There’s rosemary on 
thy breast, lass, and thy shape is like a maid’s,” he said, after 
a deep silence, — “ but, Christ, I sorrow for thy goodman, if 
thou com’st to thy very bridal with such thoughts.” 

“ Wilt never understand ? ” she cried impatiently. “ Wilt 
never learn that I wedded the feud, long months ago, when 
father staggered to the gate and died with his head upon my 
knees ? Sometimes, Ned, it seems I care for naught — naught, 
I tell thee — save to see the RatclifFes stricken one by one. 
And thou could’st have slain their leader, the worst of all of 
them, and didst not ! ” 

“ Nor would do, if I had my chance again,” he answered, 
meeting her eye to eye. 

“ Ah, God, that I had been born a man-child of the 
Waynes ! That was like thee, Ned, just like thee. Reck- 
less, stubborn, hot for battle — and then, all in a moment, the 
devil apes helplessness and touches thee to woman’s pity. 
Father was the same, and died for it; he would not kill the 
last remnant of the RatclifFes when the chance ofFered.” 

“ If thou hadst made a comrade of the sword, and learned what 
it teaches a man’s heart,” said Wayne quietly, “thou would’st 
know why father left killing — ay, and why I let the Lean 
Man go in safety.” 

She was silent until they had turned the bend of March- 
cotes street and saw the kirk-gates standing open for them, 
with the knot of village folk clustered round about the tavern. 
And then she glanced at him — once, with the passion frozen 
in her eyes. 

“ Had Mistress Janet naught to do with that ? ” she asked. 
“ Or was it a thought of her that weakened thy heart at the 
eleventh hour ? ” 

Wayne jerked his bridle and started at the trot. “Thou 
lov’st me, lass,” was all he said. “ Well, thou hast a queer 
way of showing it. — See, our folk wait for thee just within 
the gates; and there is Rolf, with as soft a bridegroom’s look 
as ever I saw. For shame’s sake, Nell, return him something 
of the love he’s giving thee.” 

“ Love ! ” she murmured, as they dismounted at the gates. 
“ Well-away, I’ve naught to do with it, methinks ; ’twas 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


314 

hate that cradled me — and if God gives me bairns, I’ll rear 
them to take on the feud w'here thou hast failed.” 

It seemed the folk were right when they named the day 
unchancy ; for Nell’s hand was cold in her lover’s as he led 
her up the graveyard path, and her mind, disdaining all that 
waited for her in the present, was wholly set upon that late- 
winter afternoon when she had watched her father breathe his 
last. Nor could she shake the memory off when she stood 
within the kirk and listened to the droning Parson’s voice. 
Till death do us part — what meaning had the words ? Death 
walked over noisily abroad in Marshcotes parish to render the 
vow a hard one either to make or keep ; and man and wife 
need look for such parting every day so long as there were 
RatclifFes left to foul the moor. 

It was done at last. Rolf and the pale, still girl whom now 
men named his wife moved down the rush-strewn aisle. 
Their kinsfolk, with pistols in their belts and swords rattling 
at their thighs, followed them into the wind-swept, sullen 
place of graves. And the village folk ceased every now and 
then from strewing rue and rosemary before the bride, and 
whispered each to other that twice in the year this kirkyard 
had seen the Waynes come armed — once to the old Master’s 
burial, and now to his daughter’s bridal. Would this end as 
that had done, they asked ? And then they glanced affright- 
edly toward the moor-wicket, as if they looked for another 
shout of RatclifFe ” and another rush of red-heads down the 
path. 

But naught chanced to break the grey quiet that hung over 
graves and dripping trees. The bridal party got to horse. 
The landlord of the tavern, according to old usage, brought 
the loving-cup and lifted it to the bride’s lips. And then, still 
with the same foreboding stillness of the crowd about them, 
they wound down Marshcotes street. 

Shameless Wayne rode with them until they came to the 
parting of the ways this side of Cranshaw; and then he 
stopped and took Nell’s hand in farewell ; and after that he 
gave Rolf a grip that had friendship in it, and a spice of pity 
too. 

She is in thy care now, Rolf,” he said. Od’s life. 
Marsh will seem cold without its mistress.” 

‘‘’Twill not lack one for long; I trust the new mistress 


AND HOW HE DRANK WITH HIM 315 

will love Marsh as I have done/’ said Nell, and Wayne, as 
he turned about and set off home, knew once for all that no 
wit of his could ever throw down the barrier that had reared 
itself between them. 

But he had scant time for counting troubles during the 
weeks that followed. The grass was ready for the scythe in 
every meadow, and he was busy day-long with the work of 
getting it cut and ready for the hay-mows. The weather — 
rainy, with only now and then a day or two of sun between — 
doubled the labour of hay-winning ; for no sooner was it 
cocked and all but ready for the leading, than the rain came 
down once more, and again the smoking heaps had to be 
spread abroad over the sodden fields. The work was cease- 
less, and Wayne of Marsh took so tired a head to pillow every 
night that sleep fell on him before he could hark back to the 
tangled issues of the feud. 

Yet every now and then he found time to stop amid his 
labours and to tell himself that, spite of all Nell had to say, 
he was glad to have kept his hand from the Lean Man that 
day upon the moor. It had been easy to fight with Nicholas 
RatclifFe in hot blood ; but he had conquered him, and that 
was enough ; and Janet would have given him less than 
thanks if he had killed the only one among her folk who 
claimed her love. 

Another matter he learned, too, and one that irked him 
sorely. Heretofore he had gone about the fields with no fear 
of danger, but rather with a welcome for it ; but ever since 
the night when Janet had come down to Marsh and given 
herself to him, he had grown tender of his skin — had halted 
before going out, and had wondered if sundown would find 
him still unharmed. Some day, perchance, he would confess 
as much to Janet if she came to need proof of his passion for 
her; but the knowledge of it was very bitter to him now, and, 
even as he crushed it down, he mocked himself for feeling it. 

The days wore on until at last the hay was all won in, and 
the farm-folk paused for breath before the corn should be 
ready for harvesting; and all the while Wayne’s friendship 
with his step-mother grew deeper and more intimate. Often, 
when his brothers were out with hawks or dogs, she was his 
only companion at the supper-board ; and afterward she would 
sit beside him while he drank his wine, talking and watching 


3i6 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


the fire which burned on the great hearth-place the year 
through. Mistress Wayne showed even frailer than of yore; 
she clung more closely to Ned, with more of the dumb plead- 
ing in her eyes ; and his pity deepened as he saw that she was 
slowly drifting back to witlessness. 

Three weeks had passed since the Lean Man had fought 
with Shameless Wayne, and it was whispered up and down 
the moorside that Nicholas RatclifFe was near his end. None 
knew how the rumour had arisen, but some traced it to gossip 
of the Wildwater farm-men ; and Earnshaw, who had caught 
a chance sight of Nicholas on the morning after the storm, 
vowed that he had never seen a man shrivel so in the space 
of one short day. Nanny Witherlee had the news from Bet 
the slattern, and she passed it on in turn to Hiram Hey, who 
carried it to the Master on the very morning that saw the last 
of the hay safely housed. 

Wayne sat up late after supper that night, turning the news 
over in his mind and wondering if it were true. Dusk was 
stealing downward from the moor, but the storm-red of sun- 
set lingered yet, and the ghostliness which crept about Marsh 
o’ nights had more unrest in it than usual, as if the darkness 
that it craved were falling over slowly. The Master had the 
old house to himself : Mistress Wayne was in her chamber; 
the maids were gone to Rushbearing Feast ; the four lads, de- 
spite the broken weather, had followed the chase all day and 
were not yet returned. 

‘^So the Lean Man is dying,” mused Wayne, his eyes on 
the slumbering peats. Ay, there’s likelihood in Hiram’s 
gossip. ’Tis a marvel he has lived so long, after the storm 
that palsied him. — Well, God knows I’d liefer the lightning 
had done the work than I.” 

The silence of the house crept softly over him, as he sat 
on and on, thinking now of Janet, now of his sister, and 
again of the feud that still lay smouldering until one side or 
the other should stir it into life again. 

A sudden weariness of it came to him. Must they fight 
everlastingly, till either Waynes or RatclifFes had been swept 
from ofF the moorside ? The Lean Man’s death would free 
Janet of the only tie that bound her to Wildwater; would it 
bring her folk likewise nearer to the thought of friendliness ? 

God grant it may,” muttered Wayne. 


AND HOW HE DRANK WITH HIM 317 


And then he glanced across the hall, toward where his 
father had lain upon the bier awaiting burial — where he him- 
self had stood and sworn above the body that he would never 
rest from killing. The tumult of the past months rolled 
back ; he saw again the quiet face of the dead ; he felt anew 
the bitter hate that had informed his vow. Was he to draw 
back now, because the one sweeping fight had given his 
stomach food enough ? Nay, for his oath held him, now as 
then ; and, now as then, he must be ready at all hours to 
carry on the old traditions. 

While he sat there, his head between his hands, with the 
peats dropping noiseless into light heaps of ash, the door 
opened and Mistress Wayne crept into hall. Her hair was 
loosened ; her bare feet peeped from under her night-gear ; 
and a man, to look at her, would have named her the bon- 
niest child that ever stood far off from womanhood. She 
stood for awhile regarding the quiet figure by the hearth, then 
came to him and rested both hands lightly on his shoulders. 

Why, bairn, I thought thou wast asleep,’’ said Wayne, 
starting from his reverie. 

I could not sleep, Ned. Each time I closed my eyes the 
dreams flocked round me.” 

He took her hands in his and drew her gently down. 

Dreams ? Come tell them to me, little one,” he said. 

She crept still closer to him, shivering as with cold. Ned, I 
saw thy father as he lay in hall here, long ago — saw his still look, 
and the candle-shadows slanted by the wind across his face.” 

Her glance, as Wayne’s had done, sought the place where 
the bier had rested ; and he wondered why his thoughts and 
hers should run on the same theme to-night. 

Let the dream rest there, bairn,” he said. 

She did not heed him, but went on, with wrapt, still face. 

And then the dream shifted, Ned, and it was the Lean Man 
lay there — the Lean Man, with one ear shorn level with the 
cheek and the dreadful scars upon his face. Ned, ’twas fear- 
some ! For Nicholas RatclifFe sat him up and scowled at me 
as he does when he meets me on the moor — as he did when 
first I went to Wildwater and was turned forth of doors by 
him. And his hands crept out toward me, Ned, till they 
closed about my throat ; and then I woke ; and I could not 
bear it, Ned, so I came down to thee.” 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


318 

Never heed such dreams,” he whispered soothingly. 

Thou’rt over-weary, that is all.” 

‘‘ It may be so — yet they were so real, Ned ! So real.” 
Again she glanced across the hall. Thrice I saw thy father 
lying there — and once, Ned, thou stood’st beside him, so I 
thought, and pleaded with him. Thou had’st kept well thy 
oath, thou said’st ; was’t not enough ? ” 

Wayne’s hand tightened on her own. It was not the first 
time that she had touched, as with a magic wand, the hidden 
burden of his thoughts ; yet never had she aimed so surely to 
the mark as now. 

And what said he — what said the dead man on the bier ? ” 
he queried eagerly. 

What said he ? He opened his eyes, Ned, and looked 
thee through and through. ^’Tis not enough, save all be 
slain,’ he answered, in a voice that was faint as the echo of a 
bell. ‘I weary of it, father,’ thou said’st. ‘Yet wilt thou 
keep the vow, though thou think’st ’tis done with,’ said the 
dead man, and closed his eyes. And then — Ned, there was a 
whimper and a crying at the door, and thy father stirred in 
sleep, and lifted himself, and cried Wayne and the Dog^ so 
clear that it was ringing in my ears when I awoke.” 

Wayne answered nothing for a space. For not his father 
only, but his father’s fathers, lifted their shrouds and gazed at 
him — gazed mercilessly and told him that the feud was not 
his, to be staunched or fought at pleasure, that it was a herit- 
age which he must bear as best he could, passing it on when 
his turn came to die. 

No buried legend of his house, no musty tale of wrongs 
suffered and repaid but came back to mind. And Mistress 
Wayne sat still as destiny beside his knee, and kept her eyes 
on his. The wind moaned comfortless through the long, 
empty passages ; the garden-shrubs tapped their wet fingers on 
the window-panes ; and the House of Marsh seemed to mut- 
ter and to tremble in its sleep. 

Wayne roused himself at last, and looked down at the frail, 
troubled face. “ Dreams need not vex us, bairn, when all is 
said. Fifty such will come in the space of one night, and 
each carry a contrary tale.” 

“ And then we heed them not ; but mine to-night are 
played all upon the one string, Ned. What should it mean ? ” 


AND HOW HE DRANK WITH HIM 319 


It means that thou hast lived through some drear months, 
little one, and the memory of them takes thee at unawares in 
sleep. — Come, now, fill up my wine-cup for me, and light the 
candles, for ’tis gloomy here in hall — and then Fll tell thee 
tales until thou’rt ready for thy bed again.” 

She was quick at all times to shift her mood to his ; and 
soon her face smoothed itself, her hands ceased moving rest- 
lessly, as she lay back against his knee and listened to his 
voice. Only the softer tales he told her, of the Wayne men 
and the Wayne women, their loves and the fashion of their 
wooing. And in the telling he, too, began to lose the discom- 
fort which her dreams had roused. 

‘‘Tell me, Ned,” she said, looking up on the sudden 5 
“ had any of thy folk so strange a wooing as thine ? ” 

“Ay, three generations back. But that tale has a drear 
ending, bairn, and I’ll not tell it thee.” 

“Often and often I dream of thee and Mistress Janet ; 
sometimes she stands at the far side of Wildwater Pool and 
bids thee cross to her — and thou goest waist-deep, Ned, to 
reach her — and then the sun sets red behind the hill and the 
waters turn to blood.” 

“ Of a truth, little one, thou’rt minded to have me sad to- 
night,” he muttered. 

“ Nay, not sad ! ” she pleaded. “ There’s much that is 
dark to me, Ned, but one thing I never doubt — that Janet 
will come safe to thee. Let the waters redden as they will, 
thou’lt cross to her one day.” 

“ Over her kinsfolk’s bodies ? Ay, it may be so,” said 
Wayne bitterly. 

They both fell silent then, and by and by Wayne looked 
down and saw that her eyes were closed and her breath came 
soft and measured. He let her lie so for a while, then took her 
gently in his arms. 

“ Poor bairn ! ” he said. “ She’s sadly overwrought ; I’ll 
take her to her room again before she wakes.” 

He came down again presently to hall, and threw fresh 
peats on the fire, and settled himself beside the hearth ; for 
Mistress Wayne had given him fresh food for thought, and 
sleep was far from him. This little woman, half witless and 
altogether weak, had echoed Nell’s words of the morning — 
that, weary of it or no, he must take on the feud. He recalled 


320 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


Nell’s look, the quiet and settled hatred that had seemed so ill in 
keeping with her bridal-morn ; and he understood, with the clear- 
ness that comes to a man at lonely night-time, how deep the 
memory of her father’s death had gone. He had been revelling 
when the blow was struck on that stormy winter’s afternoon, 
and it had been to him no more than a disastrous tale re-told ; 
but she had seen the blow, had looked into Wayne’s dying face, 
had watched* the life ebb out to nothingness. Ay, there was 
scant wonder that she could not loose her hold upon the quarrel. 

And then his mind revolted from such thoughts, and a clear 
picture came to him of Janet — Janet, as she had stood yonder 
in the window-niche and named him master. Dead Wayne 
of Marsh had his claims, and he had looked well to them ; but 
had the living no claims likewise ? He had pledged his word 
to Janet, no less than to his father; and if a chance offered, 
he would cry peace with the Ratcliffes and be glad. A deep, 
pitying tenderness for the girl swept over him ; he would be 
good to her — God knew he would be good to her. 

He was roused by a sharp call from without, a call that was 
thrice repeated before he got to his feet and opened the main 
door. 

Gate, ye Marsh folk, gate ! ” came a thin, high voice from 
the far side of the courtyard. 

Wayne looked across the moonlit yard and saw Nicholas 
Ratcliffe, whom he thought to be dying, seated astride his big 
bay horse and lifting his hand to beat afresh upon the gate. 
Too startled to feel anger, if anger had been possible after the 
plight in which he had left his foe at their last meeting, Wayne 
crossed the yard. 

Your errand ? ” he asked. 

^‘To drink the wine I spilled on my last visit here,” said 
the Lean Man. 

His voice, his bearing, were softened strangely ; and Wayne, 
seeing what weakness underlay his would-be gaiety, felt a touch 
of something that was almost pity. 

Spilled wine is hard to pick up, sir,” he answered ; ‘‘ but 
if you come to ask for a fresh measure — why, there’s none at 
Marsh will be so churlish as to grudge it you.” 

He was turning to fetch the cup when the Lean Man called 
him back. I could scarce keep my seat for faintness — I’m 
weaker than I was, as you will guess perchance — and I am 


AND HOW HE DRANK WITH HIM 321 

fain to rest my limbs. There’s a matter to be talked of, too 
— would it irk you, lad, to let the Marsh roof shelter me a 
while ? ” 

Still wondering, Wayne drew the bolts of the gate, then 
glanced to see if Nicholas held dagger or pistol in his hand. 
But he was unarmed, nor did he look like one who could use 
any sort of weapon. As in a dream the younger man helped 
his guest from the saddle, and noted that he had much ado to 
stand upright soon as his feet were on the ground. 

‘‘Times change,” said Nicholas, smiling faintly. “Not 
long since I forswore your wine — and here I’m craving your 
arm to help me indoors that I may drink the same.” 

Wayne was gentler than his wont after his long brooding 
by the hearth, and again the other’s weakness touched his pity. 
This guest of his, who leaned so heavy on his arm, was an old 
man, and he, who had brought the bitterness of defeat on him, 
was young. This guest of his, too, had been kind to Janet 
in his own rough way. 

“ Lie on the settle, sir,” he said, busying himself after the 
Lean Man’s comfort soon as they had got indoors. 

“ Well, I’ve hated this house of Marsh through life — but, 
sooth, I find its welcome pleasant now the ice is broken. — The 
wine, lad ! Bring me the wine ! — I thank you. Shall I give 
you a toast that will please us both ? ” 

“ If you can find such, sir.” 

“To Janet RatclifFe, who rules at Marsh and Wildwater,” 
said Nicholas, and drained the cup. 

Shameless Wayne leaned against the wall and passed a hand 
across his eyes. It was more like some fantastic dream-scene, 
this, than aught else. Had Nicholas, then, learned all that 
had passed between Janet and himself? Nay, that could not 
be, since he took it with such friendliness. The riddle was 
beyond him, and he looked up at last — to find the Lean Man 
smiling frankly at him. 

“ There, lad ! It puzzles thee, and I’ll make no mystery of 
it. Janet grew shamed of lying to me, and made a straight 
confession.” 

“ After — after we fought together, sir ? ” 

The other halted a moment ; then, “ After we fought 
together,” he echoed. — “See, Wayne of Marsh, I’m humbled 
— by you. I have been scarred by fire and lightning — through 


322 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


you. I despised you when first the feud broke out, thinking 
you a worthless lad, scarce meet to cross blades with me. Yet 
you have prevailed ; you have made shame my portion ” 

‘‘ Hold, sir ! What is past, is past, and I will not hearken.” 

I have cursed you, lad, till, by my life, I think there are 
no curses left in me. Weakness has stepped in everywhere, 
and even my hate is lost.” 

There was no shiftiness about the Lean Man now. His 
eye met Wayne’s with shame in it, but with no trace of guile. 
And the younger man despised himself that at such a time a 
doubt should take him unawares. 

“ Yet ’tis not long since you carried my sister off by deep- 
laid treachery — ay, and boasted of it when you brought her in 
exchange for Janet,” he said slowly. 

My body was whole then, and my heart hot ; and for 
devilry I lied to you. ’Twas not I, but Red Ratcliffe, who 
hatched the stratagem. — Lad, lad, if you could read me 
through, you’d see I’m over broken to lie, or scheme, or fight 
again.” His eyes dimmed, and he bent his scarred face on 
his breast awhile. 

Wayne felt his doubts slip by. Like a dream it was still, 
but a truer dream than Mistress Wayne’s. Only an hour ago 
she had talked of disaster and bloodshed ; and here was the 
Lean Man, come to give her prophecies the lie. And Nicholas 
could give him Janet, and peaceful days wherein she and he 
might watch the old sores heal. 

The Lean Man roused himself presently, and tried to smile. 

I lack it, Wayne, that hate of mine, when all’s said ; but ’tis 
gone, lad — ^gone altogether.” 

‘‘As mine is, too,” said Wayne in a low voice. 

“ Is that a true word ? ” cried the other. “ Is’t courtesy 
only bids you say it, or ” 

“ As I live, I have lost my hate for you. Ay, I could 
welcome peace if it were offered.” 

“That is the Wayne spirit, lad — the damned Wayne pity 
when theirs is the upper hand. Have you no fear of what 
chanced to your folk aforetime through letting us breed instead 
of killing us ? ” 

Wayne warmed to the downright sturdiness of the man. 
“ I must leave that to shape itself,” he answered. — “ But, 
Janet, sir ? What of her ? ” 


AND HOW HE DRANK WITH HIM 323 

“ She came with her tale, boy, when I was at the lowest 
ebb of spirits, thinking on my dead arm and the fights it might 
have played a part in. She told me her love for you — she 
pleaded that the long strife should end, that she and you should 
bind the two houses close in friendship.’’ 

And you consented ? You ” 

I, like a fool, consented — and she, like a woman, holds 
me to the folly. There, lad ! A life’s enmity is a dear thing 
to surrender — but Janet has witched it from me. I’m tired, 
and old, and very near my grave, and peace it shall be hence- 
forth if you’re of that mind too.” 

Shameless Wayne held out his hand, and the Lean Man 
gripped it with his left j and they looked deep into each other’s 
eyes. 

“ I have a fancy, lad,” said Nicholas presently, “ an old 
man’s fancy, and a worthless. You see me here now, and 
think the end will not be yet; but I know better. Death 
may come to-day, to-morrow — and, when it comes, I should 
like full peace to be made above my body. My folk are 
ready as myself ; ’tis only my zeal has kept them to the feud 
so long. Wilt promise me this much — that thou’lt bring 
thy kin to my lyke-wake and make peace at the bier-side? 
Oaths taken at such a time bind men more straitly. I’ve 
noticed.” 

“ But, sir, there’s no need to talk of death as yet ! ” cried 
Wayne, eager to soothe the old man’s trouble. 

The other did not heed him. I’ve not done much good 
in my lifetime,” he went on, as if talking to himself. ‘‘Life’s 
pity. I’m growing womanish, to sorrow over back-reckonings 
— yet still — ’twould please me to bring this one good deed to 
pass. Wilt promise, lad, to grant my whim ? ” 

“ I promise gladly, sir — and trust that the need to keep it 
lies far off.” 

“ Good lad ! Fill up for me again, and then help me back 
to saddle. There’s none but you would have brought me so 
far from home to-day.” 

Their hands met again when Nicholas had mounted and 
was ready to start. A grim humour was twitching at the 
corners of his mouth. 

“ What is it, sir ? ” asked Wayne. 

“ Nay, I was but thinking we parted in a different fashion 


324 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


when last we met. Fare thee well, lad, and Pll take some 
sort of love-sick message from thee to one at Wildwater.” 

Shameless Wayne went back to his seat by the hearth, and 
leaned his head on his hands, and wondered if all had been 
indeed a dream. And then his heart rose up in thankfulness, 
that at last the rough ways were to be made smooth. 

‘‘ It was a true word I spoke,” muttered the Lean Man, as 
he rode at a foot-pace up the hill. The strength is dying 
fast in me — this peace-errand of mine is the last big effort I 
shall ever make.” Again the smile flickered and died at the 
corners of his mouth. 

The last effort — save one,” he added when he gained the 
top of Barguest Lane. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


MISTRESS WAYNE FARES UP TO WILDWATER 

A WEEK had passed since the Lean Man came down to 
drink with Shameless Wayne, a week of bitter winds that 
brought rain and hail from the dark northern edge of moor. 
July, which should have been at middle splendour, had been 
flung back to March, for the thunderstorm, fiercer than any 
that had swept over Marshcotes in the memory of man, had 
quenched the sun, it seemed, and had harried the warm winds 
and lighter airs to hopeless flight. The heather, that had been 
budding fast, bent drearily to the peat and kept its flowers 
half-sheathed. The corn draggled limp and wet across the 
upland furrows. 

Shameless Wayne, as he sat at meat this morning with his 
step-mother, turned his eyes from the window and the drip- 
ping garden-trees that stood without. Never had his chance 
of happiness shown clearer than it had done since the Lean 
Man came to drink the peace-cup with him ; yet the weather 
chilled him with a sense of doom. Do as he would, he could 
not shake off the influence of moaning wind and black, cloud- 
cumbered skies. 

‘‘ Pm a child, to sway so to a capful of cold wind — eh, 
little bairn ? ” he said. 

The past week had set its mark on Mistress Wayne; her 
eyes were ringed with sleeplessness, and wore perpetually that 
haunted look which had been in them when she came from 
her bed to rid her of perplexing dreams. 

The children are wise sometimes, Ned,” she murmured. 

They sadden for storm and clap hands when the sun shines 
— and that is wisdom. Does the sky know naught of what 
is to come ? ” 

“ Nay, for it lifted when I was heaviest, and now that the 
tangles show like to be unravelled — see, the sky scowls on 
me.” 

But it knows — and when disaster steals abroad it veils its 

325 


326 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


face for sorrow. — Look, Ned, look ! There’s hail against the 
window-panes. Dost recall that night when thy — thy father 
— lay dead in hall here, and they killed Dick Ratcliffe on the 
vault-stone ’Twas the edge of winter then, and now ’tis 
full summer; yet the hail falls, now as then, and the trees 
sough with the same heartbreak in their voices.” 

’Tis just such another day,” he muttered, crossing to the 
window and watching the hail-stones gather on the sill. — 
‘‘What, then, bairn ! Are we to cry because fortune is fairer 
than the weather ? Have I not told thee there’s to be peace 
at last? And Janet Ratcliffe, whom thou wast so eager for 

me to wed, will be mine soon as ” 

“ Thou hast told me all that, Ned,” she interrupted gravely, 
“ and yet — forgive me — I am sick at heart. Barguest was 
scratching at my door last night ; I cannot rid me of him 
nowadays. What should the poor beast want with me ? ” 
Wayne turned sharply and looked into his step-mother’s 
face. If the sky’s frown had chilled him, how could a word 
of Barguest fail to move him — Barguest, whose intimate, 
friendly dealings with his house had grown to be as much a 
part of Marsh as its walls, its trim-kept garden and lichened 
mistal-roofs. 

“ And not the Dog only, Ned,” she went on, quietly, “ but 
I saw thee stand on the brink of Wild water Pool again — thee 
and Janet — and she cried to thee across the crimson waters 
like one whose soul is in dire torment.” 

“ God keep us, bairn ! ” he cried. “ Why didst not tell 
me this before ? Did Janet speak in thy dream ? Did she 
say aught of the Lean Man or her folk ? ” 

“ Naught ; she did but wring her hands, and bid them 
hasten. — Ned, Ned, where art going ? ” 

“ Going ? Why, to Wildwater. Red RatclifFe has taken 
advantage of the old man’s weakness. — God, bairn ! Shall I 
be in time to save the lass ? ” 

“’Twas no more than a dream, Ned,” she stammered, try- 
ing to block his way. “ I never thought ’twould drive thee 
up to Wildwater.” 

“ How could it do less ? ” he answered, putting her from 
him and buckling on his sword-belt. “ I laughed at dreams 
a while since — but only when they promise peace need we 
have doubt of them.” 


MISTRESS WAYNE FARES 


327 


She followed him to the door, still piteous with entreaty. 
‘‘ Ned, have a care ! The Lean Man is on our side now, but 
he is only one, and they are many at the grim house on the 
moor — rough men and cruel, like those who met me once 
and told me thou wast dying. — Well, then, if thou must go, 
i jt me come with thee ! ” 

Thou, bairn ? ” he cried. What should such as thou 
do up at Wildwater ? There, I’ll come safe home, never 
fear ; and keep thou close within doors, meanwhile, for thou’rt 
over-frail to meet these blustering winds.” 

She stood there at the door until he had saddled his horse 
and brought it round from stable ; and again she sought to 
keep him from his errand. But he paid no heed to her, and 
soon she could hear his hoof-beats dying up the lane. 

“ God guide him safe,” she whispered, and held her breath 
as the wind rose suddenly and set the hall-door creaking on 
its hinges. 

All morning she wandered up and down the passages, afraid 
of the dreams that had racked her through the night, doubtful 
if she had done well to give Ned warning, in hourly dread 
lest some ill news of him should come from Wildwater. All 
morning the wind sobbed and wailed, as if there would never 
again be gladness over the cloud-hidden land. And under the 
wind’s note Mistress Wayne could hear the patter-patter of 
soft feet, ceaseless and unrestful, till for very dread she 
wrenched the hall door open once again and went into the 
courtyard. But the footsteps followed her, and once she 
sprang aside as if some rough farm-dog had brushed her skirts 
in passing. 

Wild the storm was in this sheltered hollow, but on the 
open moor it was resistless. The wind’s voice in the chim- 
ney-stacks, piteous at Marsh, was a scream, a shriek, a trum- 
pet call, up at the naked house of Wildwater, and the walls, 
square to the harshest of the tempest, shook from roof to the 
rock that bottomed them, as if they grudged shelter to the sick 
man whom they harboured. For Nicholas RatclifFe had taken 
to his bed on the day that followed his ride to Marsh, and he 
knew that he would never rise from it again. 

He had made them move the bed to the window, from 
which his eyes could range to the far hill-spaces of the heath ; 
and he lay there this morning, listening to the storm and 


328 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


counting the hours that he had yet to live. As the wind 
raved out of the north, he could see it plough its green-black 
furrows across the dripping murk that hugged the ling from 
sky-line to sky-line ; and the sight seemed good to him. 

‘‘ It fits, it fits ! ” he murmured. Lord God, how sweet 
the storm-song is ! ” 

He was dying hard, undaunted to the last. He had feared 
naught save Barguest through his sixty years of life ; and even 
the dog-dread now was gone — it had as little terror for him as 
the grave which showed so close ahead. Nay, a grim sort of 
smile wrinkled his lips as he lay on his side, and gasped for 
breath, and heard the wild wind drive the Horses of the North 
across the waste ; for he counted his hours, and he thought 
they would lengthen till dawn of the next day — or may be 
noon. 

‘‘And by then we shall have made peace with Wayne of 
Marsh, and with his kin,’’ he muttered ; “ ay, peace — ’tis a 
fair word after all, methinks, though once I cared so little for 
it.” 

His eyes were on the open doorway, and they brightened 
as Janet crossed the stair-head. “ Janet ! ” he called. “ I’ve 
a word for that pretty ear of thine j come to the bedside, 
lass.” 

The girl came softly across the floor and put a hand on his 
wet forehead. “ Can I do aught ? ” she asked. 

“ Ay, thou canst do much, girl. Dost recall how I railed 
at thee when first I heard of thy love for Wayne? And then 
how I softened to thy pleading ? Od’s life, I think thou hast 
bewitched me ; for now I’m keener set on peace than ever I 
was on blows. Hearken, Janet ! I rode down to Marsh not 
long since, as I told thee.” 

“Ay, sir — and didst drink a cup of wine with Wayne in 
token that the feud was killed.” 

“ In token that the feud was killed,” he echoed, with a 
sideways glance at her. “ And now I cannot die till I have seen 
the peace fairly sealed, here by my bedside. Would Shame- 
less Wayne bring his folk here to Wildwater, think’st thou, 
if I made thee my messenger ? ” 

Janet caught his hands in hers. “Would he bring them? 
Why, sir, he would ask naught better,” she cried. “ Let me 
ride down to Marsh forthwith.” 


MISTRESS WAYNE FARES 


329 


“Young blood, young blood ! said the Lean Man, with a 
laugh that brought the colour to her face. “ I warrant the 
sight of Wayne is worth more to thee than fifty truces, for 
thou’rt eager as a hind in spring to seek this new-made lover 
of thine.” 

“Nay, grandfather,” said Janet gravely; “I would do for 
peace sake all that I would do for love. Peace means life — 
life to Wayne — is that so slight a matter that I should scruple 
to ride down to him ? ” 

“Wayne’s life is no slight matter,” said the other softly. 
“ Get thee down to Marsh, Janet.” 

The girl grew very tender on the sudden. She had dealt 
amiss with her grandfather in times past, and he was reward- 
ing her by kindness not to be believed. 

“We shall thank you all our lives for this — all our lives,” 
she cried. 

A shadow crossed the Lean Man’s face ; his hand trembled 
on the bed-covering; his eyes wandered hither and thither 
about the room, not meeting Janet’s. 

“I was so fearful when you learned my love for Wayne,” 
she went on. “ I feared you would find a way to kill him, 
and then that you would leave Red RatclifFe free to do as he 
would with me.” 

“ All that was in my mind, lass,” said Nicholas, after a long 
silence. “ Nay, if this pesty sickness had not weakened the 
pride in me — but that is passed. Get thee to Marsh, then, and 
bid every Wayne in Marshcotes or in Cranshaw come up to 
drink old sores away. — What, doubtful ^ ” he broke off, as 
Janet halted half toward the door. 

“ Not of Ned’s coming, sir — but the Waynes of Cranshaw 
will hold back, suspecting treachery. I saw Ned two days 
ago, and he told me how his kinsfolk had taken the news of 
your peace-errand.” 

The smile played again about the Lean Man’s lips. 
“ God’s pity, what do they fear from me ? ” he cried. “ Look 
at me, Janet, and say if I could scare any one — save the crows, 
haply, when they come a-stealing corn.” 

“They say that, while Nicholas Ratcliffe lives, there will 
be bloodshed ; they say, sir, that they’ll give no ear to talk of 
peace until — ” She checked herself. 

“ Nay, finish it out, lass ! Until I’m under sod, thou 


330 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


would’st have said ? So my name holds good even yet ? 
Well-away, ’tis a thought to soften one’s pillow, when all is 
said.” 

He fell into silence, and Janet, standing by the bedside, 
saw his rough brows drawn tight together as if the brain were 
quick yet in his dying body. A vague foreboding seized her; 
time and again in the past she had seen the Lean Man knit his 
brows in thought, and some one of his moorside foes had al- 
ways rued it later in the day. 

^‘So the Cranshaw Waynes carry suspicion of me still?” 
said Nicholas after awhile. “ Art sure, Janet, they will doubt 
me to the last ? Doubt me, when Wayne of Marsh has 
given his hand, knowing that peace is all I ask for ? ” 

“ They have not seen the changed look of you as Wayne of 
Marsh has done, or they could never doubt.” There was a 
break in Janet’s voice, for her foreboding of a moment ago 
grew shameful when measured by the old man’s gentleness. 

Then I must die without seeing what I yearned to see. 
Well, so be it. Now give me a promise, girl — the last I shall 
ever ask of thee.” 

I promise it beforehand — but it must not be the last. You 
will live, grandfather ” 

‘‘Tush, bairn! A broken jug carries no wine. — God, 
don’t cry so, Janet ! When I was hale, I could never bide 
the sight of tears; and now they madden me. Listen; when 
the breath is out of my body, my folk will wake beside the 
bier. Well, the Waynes must come then if they’ll not come 
while I’m living ; death will soften them, lass.” 

“ Grandfather ” 

“ Peace, I say I — Whenever I die, girl, be it to-day or when 
it will, do thou take the news to Wayne of Marsh and bid 
him to the lyke-wake with all his kin. Wilt do this much, 
Janet ? ” 

“ I will do it gladly, sir.” 

“ It may be to-night, Janet. Art prepared ? — Yet, Lord, I 
doubt they will not come I Girl, will they come, think’ st 
thou ? ” 

“ Grandfather, what ails you ? Is’t not enough that you 
have righted this evil quarrel ? You rode down to Marsh, at 
a time when you had scarce strength to sit the saddle ; you 
showed Ned that he could trust you ; you won him to the side 


MISTRESS WAYNE FARES 


331 

of peace. What then ? Lie back on your pillow, sir, and 
rest content.” 

“ Rest ? There's no rest,” he muttered. Fears crowd 
thick about a dying man j fears are carrion crows, girl, that 
never swoop until a man is past his strength. I fear every- 
thing, I tell thee — everything.” 

ril not wait, sir; let me go see Wayne of Marsh this mo- 
ment — 'twill ease thee to know I have told him how hour by 
hour your eagerness for peace grows hotter.” 

‘‘ Ay, go ! Have thy mare saddled, and ride with the wind’s 
heels. Tell Wayne to be prepared against my death — the 
death his folk are watching for. Bid him come to the lyke- 
wake on peril of his soul, for the curses of the dead are no 
light load to bear. Bid him in God’s name or the dev- 
il's ” 

His voice tripped for very feverishness ; his eyes burned 
with a sombre fire ; there was no doubting that this last whim 
of his had grown to be an overmastering passion. 

I will persuade him, grandfather, have never a fear of that,” 
said Janet, as she went to do his bidding. 

She turned at the door, and saw that he was following her 
with his eyes ; and she stopped for a moment, spellbound by 
the scene. The wind was raving overhead ; the light that 
filtered through the panes was leaden, streaked with a storm- 
red ; the gurgle of rain, the hiss of hail, came never-ceasing 
from across the moor; it was as if the earth were riven 
asunder, and all the waters of the earth were gathering to a 
head. And there, silent amid the uproar, lay the Lean Man 
of Wildwater, with the fire-scars on his face, and the red 
lump that stood for his left ear, and the strained look that 
comes when the one-half of a man is palsied. 

“ How drear it is, how drear ! ” murmured Janet, and looked 
at the Lean Man again, and saw that a bitter sadness had 
come into his face — a sadness whose depth she could not 
fathom. 

Come back,” whispered the Lean Man, beckoning feebly 
to her. — ‘‘Thou hast loved me well, Janet,” he went on, as 
she stooped above him. 

“ I have loved you well, grandfather — better than ever you 
knew of.” 

“But less than Wayne of Marsh — Wayne, who thwarted 


332 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


me at every turn — who — there, lass ! What am I saying ? 
That is wiped out, and haply I like him none the worse be- 
cause he gave shrewd blows. God, to think how fain I am to 
see thee wed to him — safely wed to him.” 

He dwelt on the last words, repeating them with a vehe- 
mence half grim, half childish. And then he pointed to the 
door, and not till Janet’s footfall sounded on the stair did he 
break silence. 

The lad has thwarted me, and I forgive him,” said the 
Lean Man slowly. Janet has played me false, and I make 
her the messenger of peace. ’Tis fitting ; the old hatred was 
an ill comrade for grey hairs.” 

And then he lay back, listening to the spit-spit of the rain, 
the falling cadence of the wind. And a smile, as of hardly- 
won content, played round about his hollow face. 

Red Ratclilfe was waiting at the stair-foot when Janet came 
down into the hall. 

How goes it with the dotard ? ” he cried. 

She made no answer, but brushed past him toward the 
door. 

Ay, go where thou wilt,” sneered Ratcliffe, watching her 
put on cloak and hood ; so long as the Lean Man lives. I’ll 
lay no finger on thee, for there’s a devil in him that only the 
grave can kill. But what after that ? ” 

After that, Ratcliffe the Red,” she cried, turning suddenly 
to face him, “ after that I shall put my safety in the keeping 
of one thou know’st.” 

‘‘Wayne of Marsh, I take it? Shameless Wayne, who 
drank his own father’s quarrel away, who ” 

“ Who goes abroad with a cry of TV ayne and the Dog, Hast 
ever heard the cry. Red Ratcliffe ? ” 

He winced, remembering how often he had fled panic- 
stricken with the cry behind him ; and Janet, turning from 
him in disdain, crossed to the stables through the misty drizzle 
that was scattered from the skirts of the late storm. 

It might be a half-hour later, as she dipped down the Ling 
Crag hill, that she met Shameless Wayne galloping hard up 
the stiff rise. He checked on seeing her and brought his 
mare on to her haunches. 

“ I was riding to thee, Janet. What brings thee here ? 
No ill news, is’t ? ” he cried. 


MISTRESS WAYNE FARES 


333 

Nay, Ned — save that grandfather is not like to live the 
day through.’' 

‘‘ There’s no danger threatens thee ? ” 

“ Never less, Ned. Whither wast galloping so hard, and 
why dost look so tempest-driven ? ” 

‘‘What hast done to me, Janet ? ” he cried. “ I’m full of 
dreads since winning thee; and just because Mistress Wayne 
saw thee last night in a vision, I needs must come helter- 
skelter to learn if thou wast safe.” 

“ If the vision foretold disaster, Ned, methinks it erred — and, 
by that token, it is well we met, for I have a message to thee.” 

“ What, from Wildwater ? ” 

“Ay. Grandfather, like thee, is full of doubts — but his 
are a sick man’s terrors. His fury I know, and his tenderness 
— ay, I have seen him panic-stricken, too — but I cannot tell 
what ails him now. His talk is all of peace between our 
houses ; and yet, when he speaks of my wedding thee, he 
scarce knows whether to jest or scowl.” 

“ I was a youngster, and chance gave me the better of the 
fight,’^ said Wayne quietly. “ Canst wonder he grudges it a 
little ? ” 

“ It must be so — and, Ned, we’ve happiness to thank him 
for. His message was that, soon as he is dead, you are to 
come with your folk to wake beside the body. My kinsmen 
are rough, Ned, but they know grandfather’s wish, and when 
ye stand beside the bier with them, be sure the thought of 
death will soften them to the truce.” 

“ I promised him as much a week since, and I’ll keep faith, 
dear lass — for thy sake, if for no other.” 

“Yet he fears the Cranshaw Waynes will still hold back. 
Ned, canst make sure of them ’Tis his last wish, and I 
would not have him thwarted. — And now, dear, fare thee 
well. I dare not be away from Wildwater, lest he be want- 
ing aught, or — lest he die, Ned, without my hand in his.” 

Wayne turned about. “I’ll ride to Hill House now, and 
then to Cranshaw. They shall come with me, Janet ; trust 
me to persuade them.” 

“Ned! ’Twill be — ’twill be to-night, I think. To look 
at him, he cannot live through the day.” 

“ Then to-night shall find us ready. — Why, child, what 
is’t ? ” 


334 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


She brushed the quick-rising tears away. Naught — ’twas 
naught — only, Ned, Pve no friend in the world but thou when 
grandfather has gone.” 

She was gone with that, and Wayne, after seeing her gal- 
lop into the mists, turned his mare’s head and made across the 
moor to Hill House, where he told them of the Lean Man’s 
message and the nearness of his end. Some were in favour 
of the truce, others refused to abandon their settled mistrust 
of Nicholas RatclifFe ; and last of all they rode with him to 
Cranshaw, there to take counsel of the Long Waynes. At 
Cranshaw it was the same ; some were on Shameless Wayne’s 
side, others were hot against his plan ; and Nell herself was 
the first to resist his counsel. 

‘‘ It seems the Lean Man’s dying wish is more to thee than 
father’s,” she cried ; but, for my part, I can hear no talk of 
peace for the cry that rings day-long in my ears. No quarter^ 
Ned — dost mind the cry ? ” 

“We have followed it far enough,” he answered. “Has 
wedlock taught thee so little, Nell, that peace shows not worth 
the gaining ? ” 

“ As I told thee, — neither wedlock nor aught else can wipe 
one picture out.” 

“ Well, I for one, Nell, am fain to see the end of all this 
blood-letting,” cried her husband. 

“ And art thou fain,” she answered bitterly, “ to see him 
wedded to this RatclifFe girl ? ” 

“ Ay, even that I’d welcome, though ’tis not long since I 
thought ill of it. But it should help to heal the feud — and, 
besides, they say she is no RatclifFe in her honesty.” 

“ Have it as ye will. Mistress Janet is leagued with her 
kin, doubtless — but men do not believe these matters when 
their logic is a bonnie face.” 

“Mistress Janet is well enough; all the moorside has a 
kindly word for her,” put in one of the Waynes of Hill 
House ; “ but what if the Lean Man has not done yet with 
his accursed trickeries ? ” 

“ Then we are armed, and in full force,” said Shameless 
Wayne. “ Would the Lean Man have bidden all of us to the 
feast, think’st thou, if he had meant trickery ? ” 

“ Ned is right,” put in Rolf ; “ we will go to the lyke- 
wake, and if the feud is to be staunched above his body, 


MISTRESS WAYNE FARES 


335 

there'll many a wife go happier to bed than she has done since 
the spring came in.” 

Nell held out against them still ; but they overruled her, 
and one by one the malcontents agreed to follow the counsel 
of those they counted as their leaders. 

‘‘ He’ll not last through the day, so Janet told me,” said 
Shameless Wayne. ‘‘Best come with me to Marsh forthwith, 
and wait the messenger.” 

“ So thou’lt marry this daughter of the RatclilFes ? ” said 
Nell, as she stood at the gate and watched her brother get to 
horse. 

“ God willing, Nell — and one day thou wilt love her near 
as much as I.” 

“ Nay, I have done with loving. Ride on, Ned, and if 
they tell thee I have cared for thee — why, say they lie.” 

He touched liis horse and rode slowly out ; and all the way 
to Marsh his thoughts were busy with this sister’s love that 
would fain have kept him close in prison. It was not the 
feud only then, that warped her nature. I have done with lov- 
ing^ she had said ; and dimly he understood that even her hus- 
band had no place beside him in her heart. 

“ Od’s life, these women ! Who framed them at the 
start ? ” he muttered, as he gained the steep down-hill that led 
to Marsh. 

And then he remembered little Mistress Wayne, and won- 
dered if she had rid her of the needless fears which had driven 
him out this morning in search of Janet. 

But his step-mother had left Marsh House and was already 
nearing the lane-top that took her to the moors. All morn- 
ing she had wandered from room to room, from house to 
courtyard, to see if Ned were coming home. Why had she 
listened to her dreams, she asked herself? Why told him 
how Janet had stood on the verge of Wild water Pool, entreat- 
ing help ? Visions might play her false and had done as much 
a score of times. Yet — what of Barguest? He at least was 
real ; he at least — 

She put her hands against the gate to steady herself, and 
looked up the lane ; for the sound of pattering feet was in her 
ears once more, and there was a coldness in the wind more 
shrewd than any that blew off the moors. And not only the 
sound of feet, and icy, upward moving breeze — for a dun and 


336 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


shaggy-coated hound crept out of the empty road, and swung 
up toward the heath. 

Mistress Wayne halted no longer now. There were many 
who had heard the Dog in Marshcotes, but none save she to 
whom he showed himself. It must be as she feared ; Ned 
was in peril at Wildwater, and the Dog was leading her to 
him. Not once did she halt to ask what service she could 
render him ; it was enough that he was in danger, and that 
Barguest sought her aid. 

The dun mist hugged the moor as she made forward. The 
clouds were grey as hopelessness, and everywhere the sound 
of moorland brooks, flushed by the heavy rains, was like a 
doom-song in her ears. Underfoot the peat oozed black at 
every step. The further hills were blotted out, the nearer 
rises showed unsubstantial, wan and ghoulish ; the very grouse 
were wearied into silence. The shaggy-coated beast that had 
led her here had vanished into the drifting mists ; but still she 
pressed on, her whole mind bent on reaching Wildwater. 

She would have been lost at the first mile had she brought 
reason to help her find the track to Wildwater; but instinct 
guided her more surely, and presently the black house in the 
wilderness showed swart among the mists. So dark it looked, 
so evil, that once she half turned back ; but Ned had need of 
her — and she would go to the house-door and knock, and ask 
what they had done with him. And if they killed her — well, 
it would not matter. 

On and on she went. And now she had reached the outer- 
most intake ; and now she had crossed the lank grass, and 
gone through the gate at the top, and reached the bare house- 
side that looked from its solitary window on to the path which 
led to the courtyard. Mistress Wayne caught her breath, and 
stopped, and listened ; but the house was still as death. Her 
resolution faltered ; she looked up and down the wall, with 
the rain-lines shimmering grey from the gable-end to the rust- 
ling weeds at its foot — looked, and saw nothing for awhile — 
looked, with the absent gaze of those who wander in their 
sleep, until a shadow crossed the window-pane, a shadow that 
took substance. 

Then there was a crash, the falling of broken glass, and Mis- 
tress Wayne had wit neither to scream nor flee. She could 
but follow the hand that beckoned through the broken pane. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


HOW THE LEAN MAN FORGOT THE FEUD 

Janet, soon as she reached Wildwater after bidding fare- 
well to Shameless Wayne, went up to the Lean Man’s room 
to tell him how she had fulfilled her errand and to see if he 
were in need of anything. But the sound of voices met her 
when she gained the stair-head, and she stopped irresolute. 
The pity that she felt for her grandfather was such as to make 
her shrink from showing it to the rude eyes of her kinsmen, 
and she would wait until the Lean Man and she could be 
alone together. 

The door was wide open, and as she turned to go down- 
stairs again Red Ratcliffe’s voice sounded harshly across the 
landing. ‘‘By the Heart, sir, we judged you all amiss! We 
thought the fight was dead in you, and now ” 

“ Dead ? The fight will die, lad, when I do,” chuckled 
the Lean Man. “Tell me, is it not bravely planned ? ” 

Janet crept close to the door, her eyes wide-open with 
dismay. 

“ Bravely, sir,” went on Red RatclifFe. “ Peste ! We 
have them in the hollow of our hands, and yond Wayne of 
Marsh will learn, as his father did, whither courteous foolery 
leads a man. He drank in your tale, then, when you went to 
him that night at Marsh ? ” 

“ Ay, did he ; and God knows how I kept my laughter in 
when I saw him falling into the wonted softness of his race. 
How could he refuse an old man’s plea ? How could he be 
less than courteous when I fetched a tear or so and babbled 
of my failing strength ? ” 

Janet leaned against the wall, sick and nerveless. The 
blow had fallen on her like a thunder-bolt, and as yet she 
could not realise that the Lean Man on his very death-bed 
was playing so grim a part. 

“ I would have had them ride up this afternoon,” went on 

337 


338 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


Nicholas, ‘‘ because I feared to die before the good hour came. 
Blit the Waynes of Cranshaw are less guileless, it would seem, 
than him of Marsh, and they would trust me not a stiver till 
the breath was cold in me. What, then ? Ye shall lay me 
out in state in the great hall below us, and I will show death 
that I am ready to play his game before he calls me — ay, but 
ril not die, call he never so, before I have sat me up on my 
bier and cheered you to the fight.’’ 

‘‘You’ll look so reverend, I warrant, that the sight of you 
will disarm them altogether,” laughed Red RatclifFe boister- 
ously. “We shall pledge your soul with such sorrow, we 
Wildwater folk, and they’ll be eyeing us so steadfastly, that 
our blades will be clean through them before they have got 
hand to hilt. Courage, grandfather ! You’ll see the end of 
every Wayne that steps before you leave us.” 

“ If fortune holds. I bade them all to the feast — all, lest 
one should be lacking from the tally of dead men. Lord 
God, I must live until the dawn ! ” 

“And Janet was your messenger? A bonnie stroke, to 
make the stock-dove lure the wild goose into bowshot.” 

The Lean Man rose from his pillows, and his voice was 
terrible to hear. “ Janet ? ” he cried. “ She played me false, 
she let my foe wanton with her in sight of all the moorside ; 
she killed my love, I tell thee, and I hate her more than I hate 
Wayne of Marsh. From the first moment that I learned it, 
I cursed her by the Dog ; and to my last breath I’ll curse 
her. I all but killed her on the first impulse ; but then I 
thought better of it, and planned to tear her heart in two by 
making her the bait for Wayne — and the plan will carry — the 
plan will carry, lad ! ” 

“ Ay, it will carry, sir. But she must guess naught of it, 
or by the Mass she’ll find a way to warn them. Where is 
she now ? ” 

Again the feeble, hollow laugh. “ With Shameless Wayne, 
lad, to be sure. I sent her to him, saying I was like to die 
this night and bidding him be ready for the lyke-wake.” 

“ Christ pity me ! It was I who sent him for his kinsfolk,” 
murmured Janet. 

She was dazed yet from the shock ; the wall against which 
she leaned seemed to turn round and round her; love, faith 
and honour, so sure a moment since, were empty phantoms 


THE LEAN MAN FORGOT THE FEUD 339 


now ; nothing was real, save these two evil voices, of the 
youngster she had hated and the old man she had loved. 

And they’ll be fondling one another,” cried Red RatclifFe, 
after a silence, “ and saying how all is made straight for them 
at last. — Look ye, sir,” he broke olF fiercely. I claim Janet 
after this night’s bloody work is done.” 

“ And shalt have her. Red-pate, if for no other reason than 
that she loathes the sight of thee. Ay, she shall learn the 
price a RatclifFe asks when he is thwarted.” 

The colour was returning to Janet’s face. She had been 
stunned by the first shock of discovery ; but now that they 
threatened — threatened death to Wayne, and worse than death 
to her whom Wayne had mastered — her face went hard of 
purpose as the Lean Man’s own. She rallied quickly, stood 
for a moment with one ear turned toward the door, then 
moved on tip-toe to the stairs. 

“ What’s that ? ” she heard Red RatclifFe say. Didst hear 
a footfall on the landing, sir ” 

Not 1 . Tush, lad, I begin to think thou’rt feared of 
what’s to come.” 

I’m feared of naught, save treachery.” 

Then why dost grow pale because a pufF of wind sets 
doorways creaking ? As for treachery — Janet is at Marsh, I 
tell thee ; she cannot have got there and back by now.” 

Janet held her breath and started down the steps, slowly, 
with a thief’s tread. One step, two — all was well. But the 
stones were slippery with the wet mud that Red RatclifFe had 
brought up with him from the stable-yard, and at the third 
step she slipped and would have fallen but for the oaken rail 
that protected the stairway from the well. There was a pause 
and then she heard the sound of heavy feet crossing the floor 
above. 

^‘’Tis Janet, I say ! Who else would be spying up and 
down the steps ? ” cried Red RatclifFe, running to the stair- 
head. 

Janet, reckless of another fall, sped down the steps, and on 
along the gloomy passage. Red RatclifFe, heedless likewise of 
his neck, leaped after her. She reached the side-door leading 
to the orchard, and wrenched the bolts back ; but the wood 
was swollen by the rain, and she could not move it. Red 
RatclifFe was close behind her now; she tugged at the heavy 


340 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


door, but still it would not yield, though her fingers bled and 
the nails were broken half-way down. 

“Not again, pretty one!’’ laughed Red Ratcliffe, as he 
caught her by the arms. 

“ Let me go. I — I will not have thee hurt me so.” 

“Thou’lt have what I think good for thee in future,” he 
answered, tightening his grip until she screamed for pain. 
“ Thou didst hear, doubtless, that the Lean Man gave thee to 
me iust now Well, ’tis best to show who is master at the 
start.” 

“ Master 1 ” she cried. “ Thou dar’st to call thyself my 
master ? ” 

The word was like a knife-thrust to the girl. This lewd, 
red-headed fool to claim the title which belonged to Shameless 
Wayne I And then she remembered that Wayne’s safety and 
her own depended, not upon passion, but on coolness now. 
She turned as Red Ratcliffe loosed his hold, and eyed him very 
softly. 

“ Cousin,” she said, “ thou wast wont to prate of thy love 
for me.” 

“ I’ll prove it by and by.” 

“ Nay, prove it now — by gentleness. I only ask a mo- 
ment’s freedom — just to the garden-gate and back again, to 
cool my feverishness. This house-air stifles me. Cousin, be 
kind this once, and I will — will love thee for it.” 

“ Thou hast fooled me so oft, lass, that it seems the fondest 
lie is reckoned deep enough to take me now. How far is’t, 
tell me, from the garden-gate to Marsh ? ” 

“ Wayne is not at Marsh,” she broke in. “ Why should 
I want to go there ? ” 

So thou hast persuaded him to ride to Cranshaw ? My 
thanks for the news, pretty one. The sport speeds better 
than I hoped for when I found thee returning over-soon from 
thy errand. Didst meet him by the way, then ? ” 

She rued her hastiness; for she saw by Red Ratcliffe’s face 
that no turn of speech or eye could cozen him ; and she had 
confessed, all for naught, that Shameless Wayne would come 
to the lyke-wake when they bade him. 

“ Cousin, let me have speech of grandfather,” she said, 
making a last effort. “ I — I can explain all to him ” 

“ Doubtless,” answered the other grimly. “ Old liking is 


THE LEAN MAN FORGOT THE FEUD 341 


hard to kill, Janet, and I would not trust thee with him — nay, 
not though he hates thee now. Thou would’st be soft with 
him, letting thy lashes melt upon thy cheeks. God, yes, I 
can see thee at thy antics ! — A murrain on thee ! ” he broke off. 

Is there so little to be done that I must needs stand chatter- 
ing here ? Follow me, girl.” 

I will not follow thee,” she answered stubbornly. 

For answer he set his arms about her and half carried, half 
dragged her to the little room at the bottom of the passage 
where once he had prisoned Nell Wayne; then pulled the 
door to and turned the key sharply in the lock. 

Janet, left to herself, gave way utterly. She had no heart 
to lift herself from the floor, but sat there, her head bowed 
upon her knees, and pictured what was so soon to follow in 
the great hall that lay just behind her prison-chamber. And 
by and by her mind began to wander idly down strange paths 
of thought, as she recalled each speech and glance of her 
grandfather’s at their last meeting. All that had puzzled her 
in his air grew clear — the touch of remorse, the look of pity 
that came into his face at parting. For the one moment he 
had wavered, remembering his love for her ; why had she not 
known, not guessed what he was planning ? For then she 
might have over-ridden his purpose. 

Too late ! There was nothing to be done now. The 
thought maddened her. Springing to her feet, she crossed to 
the one small window of the room and stood looking out upon 
the mist-swept greyness of the heath. But there was no 
chance of escape, for a child could not creep through it — she 
must wait, then, watching the hours slip ghostly past this 
strip of moor — watching the dark come stealthily from the 
sky-edge — listening to the noise of men about the house and 
knowing the reason of their gaiety. 

And she had led Wayne here. In a flash she recalled that 
other day when she had sought to save him from going to 
Bents Farm in face of peril ; now as then her very care for 
him had been his undoing. If he were here now — if she 
could have one poor five minutes with him before the end — 
he would never doubt her love again. 

Then she could bear her thoughts no longer, and she threw 
herself time after time against the door, striving to beat it 
down. That brought weariness, and welcome pain of body, 


342 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


to her aid, and she sank into a sort of numb heedlessness that 
yet was nothing kin to sleep. 

She was roused by the sound of feet^ slow-moving down 
the stair as if some heavy burden were being carried from an 
upper room. The house, empty of all furniture save such as 
the rough needs of their life demanded, re-echoed every 
sound. Janet could hear the very shuffle of the men’s boots 
as they halted at the stair-foot. Then, slowly, with measured 
burial-tread, the footfalls came down and down the passage, 
halted at the rearward door of the hall, made forward again 
until they sounded close beside the wall of Janet’s prison. 
What were they doing, she asked herself? And then the 
Lean Man’s voice sounded from the other side of the wall, 
and she understood the grim business that they had on 
hand. 

Ay, well in the corner, lads,” said the Lean Man. 

Custom bids me lie in state in the middle of the hall — but I 
should ill like to cumber fighting-ground. Say, is there room 
for all of you — ourselves and all the Waynes in Cranshaw 
and in Marsh cotes ? ” 

‘‘ Room and to spare, sir,” answered Red Ratcliffe. God 
rest the builder of the hall for giving it such width.” 

^^Well, remember to strike swift at the word. Fill up 
your glasses and lift them to the cry, ‘ In the name of the 
dead man — peace between Wayne and Ratcliffe.’ And then 
— on to them while they drink, and the dead man on the bier 
will lift himself to watch.” 

A subdued hum of laughter followed, broken by the Lean 
Man’s voice. 

‘‘ I warrant ye found the carrying of me no light work. 
By the Mass, the sweat drips from under your red thatches like 
rain from mistal-eaves ! ” 

Janet shuddered to hear his gaiety. This man was dying, 
and yet by sheer force of hate he was keeping the life in him 
until — but she dared not think what followed that until.” 

A messenger has gone to bid the Ryecollar Ratcliffes to 
the wake,” said another voice presently. 

’Tis well. And Wayne of Marsh ? ” 

He will be gladdening at your death by this time, sir ; for 
Ralph here, who rode down to Marsh, as thou badest him, to 
tell them of thy death ” 


THE LEAN MAN FORGOT THE FEUD 343 


‘‘Returns,” put in Ralph, “with Wayne’s greeting to my 
kin, and his pledged word that he and his will come to the 
lyke-wake after sundown.” 

“Lord Harry, what a night ’twill be!” cried the Lean 
Man. “Do ye wonder, lads, that I was eager to get me to 
the bier before I need ^ I like the feel of it; I like to meet 
yond dotard death half-way and show him that I have scant 
respect for him. Death ? What is death, when I shall see 
the sweep of swords on splintering skulls before I leave ? 
Come, wrap the cere-cloths round me ; they’ll be softer bed- 
fellows than any wife I ever lay beside.” 

Janet listened to it all and wondered if her wits were play- 
ing her false. This man, who could rest on his own bier and 
play with the death which was already overwatching him — 
was he the grandfather she had loved, or some bog-begotten 
thing that had come from out the moor and claimed his body ? 
It might be so, for strange tales were told of what chanced to 
men who halted between this world and the next. Again she 
turned to the window, striving to keep her wits by deadening 
sense and hearing to what was passing on the other side of the 
wall. Without, grey clouds were hiding the last edge of sun- 
set, and a grey mist was trailing up the pathway of the wind. 
Oh, for a moment’s freedom ! No more — for not the wind 
itself could race as she would race to warn the RatclifFes’ 
enemies. 

She passed a hand across her eyes, thinking that in sober 
truth she was going mad at last. For out of the mist-wreaths 
a figure — a frail figure, with wet, wind-scattered hair — was 
coming toward the house of Wild water. Janet, awe-stricken, 
watched it draw near and nearer yet ; and then, with a rush 
of hope that was almost agony, she saw that it was no phan- 
tom, this, but Mistress Wayne of Marsh — Ned’s stepmother, 
and his constant friend. Clenching her fist she drove it 
through the window-pane with one clean blow. 

“ Quick ! I’ve a word for you. Mistress Wayne,” she 
stammered, dreading lest one of her folk should come to learn 
the meaning of the crash. 

“ Yond is the pretty traitor,” she heard Red RatclifFe say. 
“ Let her break every shred of glass the window holds — not 
even her slim body can win through the opening.” 

Mistress Wayne, startled out of the lonely musings that 


344 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


had kept her company across the moor, turned about as if to 
flee ; but terror held her to the spot. 

’Tis I — Janet Ratcliffe — Ned’s sweetheart — do you not 
know me, Mistress ? ” cried Janet, feverishly. 

The little woman drew near a step or two and eyed her 
gravely. ‘‘ I remember — yes, you are Janet Ratcliffe — why 
did you fright me so ? ” she whimpered. 

Mary Mother, must our safety rest with such a want-wit 
babe as this,” muttered Janet. — Come closer, Mistress ! ” 
she went on peremptorily. 

Mistress Wayne obeyed the stronger will, though still she 
was afraid of she knew not what. 

Go back to Marsh and tell them there is treachery,” 
whispered Janet. ‘^Tell them, if come they will — and 
Ned, I know, will do no less — that they must come with 
swords loose in the scabbards. The signal is, ^ In the name 
of the dead man, peace between Wayne and Ratcliffe.’ Now, 
hasten. Mistress — hasten, I tell you, unless you wish to see 
Ned killed at Wildwater; for see, the sun sinks fast, and 
sundown is the time appointed.” 

Not at once did Mistress Wayne learn her message ; she 
had to repeat it, child-like, over and over until she had it 
letter-perfect, while all the time Janet could scarce get the 
words out for impatience. But one thing the little woman 
understood — that Barguest had not led her up the moor for 
naught, that Ned was in instant peril, that only she could save 
him by hurrying back to Marsh. 

Janet watched her, when at last her lesson was well learned, 
fade ghost-like into the darkening banks of mist. And then 
she dropped to the floor, and lay there forgetful of the prepa- 
rations that were afoot behind her in the hall, heedless of the 
rattle of swords, the interchange of pleasantries between the 
Lean Man and his folk, the chink of flagons on the lyke-wake 
board. And afterward she found cause to thank Our Lady 
for the swoon which gave her so merciful a breathing-space 
between what had chanced and what was yet to follow. 

Mistress Wayne never halted until she had gained the door 
of Marsh. Shameless Wayne himself answered her knocking ; 
his mind seemed bent on weightier matters, for he scarce 
noticed her after the first quick glance of surprise, but led her 
into hall, where thirty of his kinsfolk were gathered in chat- 


THE LEAN MAN FORGOT THE FEUD 345 


taring knots about the hearth, or in the window-nooks, or 
round about the supper-table. GrifF and the three lads stood 
together in one corner, whispering and trying the edges of 
their swords. 

‘‘There’s no place for trickery, I tell thee,” Rolf Wayne 
of Cranshaw was saying as she entered. “ Why should they 
send a messenger to say that the Lean Man is dead ? Why 
should they press us to go drink in amity above his body ? ” 

“ Because they’ve hatched some pesty stratagem,” answered 
his fellow, whose doubts had reawakened during the suspense 
of waiting. “ They’ll find it easier to fight at home than in 
the open.” 

“ Pish ! We’ve eyes and swords to help us,” cried Shame- 
less Wayne, turning sharp round from his step-mother. “ If 
they want peace, they shall have it ; and if war, then they 
shall have that likewise. But ’tis peace, I tell you, for the 
Lean Man had repented of his hate before he died.” 

None answered him, for all had turned as Mistress Wayne 
came in. And Shameless Wayne turned then and scanned 
her up and down 5 yet, startled as he was to see her in this 
plight, he asked her no question, but filled a wine-cup to the 
brim and set it to her lips. 

“ Wast ever kind to me, Ned,” she whispered brokenly. 
“ None knows, I think, how thou hast watched to give me 
my least need.” 

“ Thy needs are no great burden for a man’s back,” he an- 
swered, in the old kindly tone that he kept for her alone. — 
“ Does the company fright thee, bairn ? Why, then, we’ll 
none of them. Come to the parlour and tell me all thou hast 
to say.” 

She shook her head, and stood with one hand in his, and 
looked from one to another of the swart, sinewy men who 
kept so mute a watch on her. 

“ There’s treason,” she said simply, and stopped till she 
could gather the scattered items of her message. 

Wayne looked at Wayne, but none spoke. The silence 
that foreruns a storm held one and all of them. 

“ I — I went to Wildwater — in search of Ned,” went on the 
little woman. “ He was long a-coming, and I feared for him.” 

“ Why, what could’st thou have done to help ? ” muttered 
Shameless Wayne. 


346 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


I did not know — only, that Barguest had called me to 
thy aid. I crossed the moor, and it was very dreary, and 1 
was frightened. But I saw the Dog go footing it up the lane 
before me, and I went on — on — until I reached the black 
house of the RatclifFes.” 

Still no word, not a murmur, from the listening group. All 
eyes were on the little figure by the table, but she stood with 
clasped hands and far-away regard, as if she were looking at 
some other scene. 

I passed close to the one end of the house — the end that 
has a little window looking on the moor — and I grew lonely, 
so lonely, that I wished to turn and run back home to Marsh. 
And then I saw a hand beckoning me from behind the win- 
dow — and there was a crash — and, when I had found my wits 
again, Janet RatclifFe was whispering to me through the 
broken pane. A long tale she told me, and I learned it all by 
heart, and — nay, it has gone ! There’s but one word in my 
ears — and it sings so loudly that I cannot hear the rest.” 

What is the word ? ” asked her step-son gently. 

^‘Treason — treason — treason. But there was more — some 
— some signal. Oh, what will Janet say when she knows I 
have forgotten my lesson ! ” 

The strain was over great for her 5 her face worked pite- 
ously, her hands clasped and unclasped each other in the ef- 
fort to remember. And Shameless Wayne, dumbfounded as 
he was to know he had been the Lean Man’s dupe, knew well 
that they must humour this poor waif if they were to get her 
tale from her. 

Come, little bairn,” he said, thou hast told enough. 
Rest thyself awhile, and never heed the finish of thy tale.” 

Oh, but I must ! It touches thee so nearly, Ned.” Her 
face cleared on the sudden. I know now,” she went on, 
still with the same grave simplicity. They have asked you 
to wake with them in token that the feud is healed. They 
will fill your goblets and their own, and lift them to the cry, 
‘In the name of the dead man, peace between Wayne and 
RatclifFe.’ And then, while ye are drinking, they will kill 
you with their swords.” 

The storm was let loose now. The Long Waynes of 
Cranshaw had their say, and the Waynes of Hill House; 
GrifF and his brothers watched from their corner, with eager 


THE LEAN MAN FORGOT THE FEUD 347 


faces that showed how they were spoiling for a fight. The 
Lean Man’s name flew hither and thither through the clam- 
our ; none doubted that the plot was his, and they cursed him 
by the Brown Dog of Marsh. 

Shameless Wayne stood aloof from all until the din had 
lessened ; and when at last he spoke his voice was rough and 
hard. 

‘‘Waynes, are ye ready for the lyke-wake ? ’Tis time we 
got to saddle,” he said. 

“ Art mad ? ” cried one. “ Is the warning to go for naught, 
that we should put our necks into so trim a noose ? ” 

“ Let be, Ned. Wildwater is no good drinking-house for 
us,” said another. 

“Would’st ride thy luck till it floundered ?” snarled a 
third. 

Shameless Wayne beckoned to his four brothers. “ Come 
hither, lads,” he said quietly. 

They came and ranged themselves about him, facing the 
noisy throng. 

“ Will ye ride with me to Wildwater ? ” he asked. 

“ Ay, if thou mean’st to fight,” answered GrifF. And, 
“ Ay, will we ! ” cried the rest. 

“ Then saddle. — Who goes with us ? ” he went on, turning 
to his kinsfolk. 

They glanced at each other, angrily, sheepishly. If GrifF 
and his stripling brothers were fain to follow this bog-o’-lan- 
thorn chase, could they hold back? 

“ Think twice about it, Ned, and keep thy strength to meet 
them in the open,” said one of the Long Waynes of Cranshaw. 

“ I go, and the lads go, whoever follows. — Hark ye, 
Waynes! These swine have fooled us; they have twice 
broken hospitality — once in drinking with me here, and once 
in ofFering us a friendly cup at Wildwater. Will our swore s 
rest light in the scabbard, think ye, if we hold back for one 
single day ? ” 

“Ned is right,” struck in Wayne of Cranshaw; “and we 
shall take them at unawares. They count us unprepared. The 
first blow will be ours.” 

He crossed to his cousin’s side, and others with him ; and 
those who still thought the enterprise foolhardy could not for 
shame’s sake stand aloof. 


348 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


‘^Waynes,” said Ned grimly, as they clattered to the door, 

they think us over-gentle, these RatclilFes ; but to-night, I 
warrant, we’ll be something better than our reputation. 

By the Mass, we shall see fair sport at last ! ” cried GrifF, 
his face afire with eagerness. 

Mistress Wayne laid a hand on Ned’s arm as he was fol- 
lowing the rest. I — I want to come with thee,” she 

faltered. 

^‘To come with me?” he cried impatiently. ‘‘Thou 
look’st fitter for thy bed, foolish one.” 

“ Say it is fancy — only take me. I’ll not fear the blood- 
shed — I’ll not give one cry — take me, Ned ! ” 

“ But, bairn, what should I do with thee ? ” 

“ Hast heard what they say in Marsh cotes — that I am thy 
luck, Ned ? Thou’lt win to-night if I am near at hand.” 

He reasoned with her, stormed at her, all to no purpose ; 
for the little woman could be obstinate as himself when she 
believed that his safety was in case. 

“ I say thou shalt not come with us,” he said. “ There’s 
work to be done, bairn, and we want no women-folk to 
watch.” 

Yet for all that he would have had her come, for the super- 
stition which he disavowed was quick in him. She was his 
luck, and he knew it well as she. 

“ Ned, I never yet asked aught of thee and was refused,” 
she pleaded. 

“ Hold thy peace, child ! I cannot take thee — and I will 
not.” 

Her eyes filled with tears ; it was as idle, she could see, to 
turn him from his refusal as to hold him back from Wildwater. 

“ There ! I was harsh with thee. Never heed it, bairn,” 
he said, looking toward the courtyard where already he could 
hear the fretful pawing of horses, the rattle of scabbards as his 
folk sprang into the saddle, the gruff cries of the stable-men. 

A thought came to him, then. He fingered the dagger at 
his belt, in absent fashion, and turned to ask Mistress Wayne 
if the room where Janet was prisoned was easy to be found. 

“ I could show it to thee if thou would’st take me,” she 
said, with a child’s subtlety. 

“ Wilt make me curse thee, bairn ? Where is the room, I 
say ? ” 


THE LEAN MAN FORGOT THE FEUD 349 

‘‘ It — it lies fair on the bridle-way. ’Tis the only chamber 
on that side the house.” 

“ So Janet learned their secret, and they held her back from 
warning us,” he muttered. ‘‘What if the day goes against 
us ? Peste ! I never asked myself so mean a question before 
I had two lives to think for.” 

“ Ned ! Where art thou ? ” cried Rolf from the courtyard. 
“ There’s thy mare here, kicking all to splinters because thou 
wilt hot mount her.” 

But Wayne was already out in the courtyard and had stepped 
to the roan mare’s head. The roan ceased pawing at sight of 
him, and came and thrust her muzzle close against the mas- 
ter’s cheek; and Wayne with one clean vault was in the 
saddle. 

But his step-mother had all the cunning of the fairy-kist. 
Quick as himself she had followed him into the yard. The 
flaring torch-light showed her GrifF’s boyish figure and eager, 
laughing face on the outskirts of the throng. 

“ GrifF, I must ride with thee to Wildwater,” she said, lay- 
ing a hand on his saddle. 

The lad started. He was a little afraid of his step-mother 
in these latter days, as youngsters are of those they cannot 
understand. 

“ Why, Mistress ? ” he asked bluntly. 

“ ’Tis a whim of mine — nay, ’tis a crying need. Ask no 
more, GrifF ; it is for thy brother’s sake — and if thou wilt not 
take me. I’ll run beside thy stirrup till I drop.” 

Puzzled, liking neither to take her nor to refuse a plea so 
urgent, GrifF stooped at last and swung her to his crupper. 
“ The Lord knows how it will fare with you at Wildwater,” 
he muttered, as his brother’s call to start rang through the 
courtyard. 

In silence they went up the moor, a score and ten of them. 
The wind, quiet for awhile, was gathering strength again, and 
its breath was bitter cold. A blurred round of yellow marked 
where the moon was fighting with the cloud-wrack over Dead 
Lad’s Rigg. The whole wide moor was dark, and lonely, 
and afraid. The heather dripped beneath the keen lash of 
the wind, and over Lostwithens Marsh the blue corpse-candles 
fluttered. 

“ Are ye feared. Mistress ? ” said GrifF, stooping to the ear 


350 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


of Mistress Wayne when the journey was half over. His 
voice was jaunty, but in truth his dread of moor-boggarts was 
keener for the moment than his zest for the battle that was 
waiting them up yonder on the stormy hill-crest. 

I fear the moor always, Griff ; ’tis pitiless, like those red 
folk who dwell at Wildwater,” whispered Mistress Wayne, 
clinging more tightly to him. 

‘‘Well, there’ll be fewer of them by and by, so keep thy 
courage warm with that.” 

Nearer and nearer they drew to Wildwater, while Janet 
Ratcliffe was still kept prisoned in the narrow chamber that 
overlooked the moor. She had wakened from her swoon in 
time to hear the last preparations of her folk in the hall behind 
her, and the Lean Man’s voice was in her ears as she lifted 
her aching head and heavy limbs. 

“ Do I fit this cursed bier } ” he was saying. 

“ Like a gauntlet, sir,” answered Red Ratcliffe. 

“ Do I look pale enough ? Lord knows I need, for the 
fight to keep old death at bay shows like to break me. Lads, 
if only my right arm were whole ! I’d take my turn with 
you, ’od rot me, and have one merry sword-cut for my last. 
What hour is’t ? ” 

“ ’Tis close on ten of the clock. They should be here by 
now.” 

“ Tie up my chin, then, lest aught be wanting. Poor fools ! 
Poor, courteous fools ! To think they come in innocence.” 

Would the dread farce never end, thought Janet? Or 
would a hand reach out of the moor — the moor that was her 
friend — and strike the Lean Man in the midst of his cool- 
ordered devilry ? But still their voices sounded through her 
prison-wall. She listened more intently now, for old Nicholas 
was talking of herself. 

“ When all is over, bring the girl into hall here — the girl 
who mocked me and played the harlot with my foes. Spare 
her no drop of agony ; bring her to where Wayne of Marsh 
lies bloody, and tell her that is the bridal I had set my heart 
on. God, how deep my hate goes ! And ” — his voice faltered 
by a hair’s-breadth — “ and once I loved her.” 

He loved her still, thought Janet; and the half-confession 
touched a strange chord in her. A moment since she had 
burned with hate of her grandfather; yet now, with the ob- 


THE LEAN MAN FORGOT THE FEUD 351 


stinacy of her race, a spark of the old love wakened for this 
crafty rogue who had spent his last hours in working for her 
misery. Nay, there was a touch of pride in him, because he 
kept so staunch a spirit to the end. 

‘‘Well, time wags. Tie up my chin, I tell thee, RatclifFe 
the Red,” said the Lean Man after a lengthy silence. 

Janet could hear Red RatclifFe start forward to do the old 
man’s bidding, could hear the awed laughter that followed. 
Her fleeting love for him died out. She loathed his treachery, 
and his impious trafficking with death. Sick at heart she got 
to her feet and began to pace up and down the room. Had 
Mistress Wayne carried the message to Marsh House ? Or 
had she faltered by the way ? She was so slender a bridge to 
safety that it seemed she must break down. 

The wind whistled through the shattered window, and with 
it came a spit or two of rain. Janet, her senses sharpened 
by anxiety, heard the least under-sound that came from the 
hall, the moor, the moaning chimney-stacks. She started on 
the sudden and put her ear to the casement. Up the path 
that skirted the house-side came the faint slush-slush of horse- 
hoofs striking sodden earth. 

“ They are coming ! ” she muttered, racked with fear lest 
her warning had miscarried. 

Soon she could see thick shadows crossing the window- 
space — shadows of men on shadows of horses, outlined against 
the lesser blackness of the sky beyond. Something struck the 
ground at her feet ; she groped for it and her fingers closed 
upon a dagger with a curving blade. She knew then that 
Wayne of Marsh was forewarned — knew, too, the meaning 
of his quiet message to her. If he should fall he had given 
her a refuge from dishonour. 

Her courage returned. At worst she could die with him ; 
and Wayne’s luck in battle did not let her fear the worst. 
She stood straight in the darkness of her prison, and heard the 
horsemen turn the corner of the house, and waited. 

Wayne of Marsh, meanwhile, led his folk straight in at the 
Wildwater gates, which stood wide-open in proof that they 
were welcome guests. 

“ Now, Mistress, what am I to do with you ? ” whispered 
GrifF to his step-mother as he pulled up his horse and lifted 
his frail burden to the ground. 


352 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


But Mistress Wayne, not answering him, slipped from his 
side and lost herself amid the darkness. Nor did she know 
what purpose was in her mind — only, that where Ned was, 
there must she be also. 

Shameless Wayne sprang from the saddle and knocked 
sharply on the door with a cry of RatclifFes, ho ! RatclifFes ! ” 

The door was flung wide. Welcome, all Waynes who 
come in peace,” cried Red RatclifFe from the threshold. 

We come to secure peace,” said Wayne, and turned in 
the darkness of the courtyard and whispered, ‘‘^/7/.” 

The hall was aglow with light as they entered. Candles 
stood in all the sconces of the walls, on the mantel-shelf, on 
the great dining-table which was pushed close against the 
outer wall ; and, at the head and foot of the Lean Man’s bier, 
a double row of flames shone yellow on the burial-trappings. 
Over the mantel were the rude letters of the RatclifFe motto. 
We strike^ we kill ; and Wayne of Marsh smiled as his eyes 
fell on the device which he and his had ridden hither to dis- 
prove. 

Red RatclifFe caught the direction of his glance, and touched 
him lightly on the shoulder. ’Tis but an outworn saying, 
yond,” he cried. We neither strike nor kill, now that the 
dead has bequeathed us fairer days.” 

He beckoned toward the bier, and Wayne and all his folk 
drew round it in a ring, looking down upon the closed eyes 
and wax-white face of their old enemy. Until now they had 
doubted whether the Lean Man were really dead ; but doubts 
vanished as they saw the still look of him and marked how 
death had lent its own nobility to the scarred weasel-face. 

‘‘ His last prayer was for an end to our long feud,” said Red 
RatclifFe, smooth and grave. 

‘‘ Ay, was it — and he wept that he had not lived to see us 
friends,” cried one of his fellows. 

Shameless Wayne kept his eyes on the dead man, for fear 
his scorn of all this honeyed speech should show too soon ; 
and he thought, as Red RatclifFe spoke, that a tremour like the 
first waking of a smile ran up from the cloth that bound the 
Lean Man’s jaws. But he could not tell ; the candle-flames 
were slanting now in the wind that rustled through the open 
door, and the fantastic shadows thrown by them across the 
bier might trick the keenest sight. 


THE LEAN MAN FORGOT THE FEUD 353 


“’Twas wondrous how quiet an end he had — the old hate 
clean forgotten,” went on Red RatclifFe. 

‘‘ May all his kinsfolk have as quiet an end,” said Wayne, 
and sighed impatiently, wondering when the signal for the 
onset would free him from all this give-and-take of idle talk. 

Yet he would not hurry to the goal ; for if the RatclifFes 
thought tto lull hirri into security by delay, the self-same logic 
taught him likewise to be patient. For Shameless Wayne was 
cool to-night; his aim was not victory alone, and if one 
RatclifFe of them all escaped, he would count himself a beaten 
man. 

A silence followed. The RatclifFes were glancing sideways 
at each other, as if asking, When ? ” — and one of them, 
stooping to Red RatclifFe’s ear, whispered, The door ! We 
have forgot to cut ofF their retreat.” 

‘‘ The night blows shrewd, friends. Let’s shut it out,” 
cried Red RatclifFe boisterously. 

He stopped half toward the door, and fetched an oath, then 
laughed aloud ; for there on the threshold stood little Mistress 
Wayne, shivering from head to foot. 

‘‘ By the Mass, we entertain a gentle member of your 
house, friend Wayne,” he said. ‘‘Enter, Mistress; there’s 
no peace-cup rightly drunk, they say, unless a woman’s lips 
have touched it.” 

Wayne frowned on her as she stepped timidly into the 
room and crossed to where he stood. “ How com’st thou 
here ? ” he asked. 

“ I could not leave thee — oh, Ned, I could not leave thee,” 
she whispered. “ Dear, thou’lt win with me here to watch 
thee — and — for Our Lady’s sake, get done with it, for I’m sick 
with doubts and fears.” 

Red RatclifFe had already shut the door and slipped the 
bolts into their staples. And Shameless Wayne looked on 
and nodded ; for he, too, was wishful for closed doors. He 
had taken advantage of the little woman’s entry to draw ofF 
the Long Waynes of Cranshaw, the Waynes of Hill House, 
and his four brothers, from the bier; — they had masked them- 
selves, as if by chance, a little apart from the red-headed host 
of RatclifFes, and either side looked for awhile at the other, 
each hiding their sense of the wild humour of the scene. 

Red RatclifFe was smooth and merry as one who dances at 


354 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


a rout. “ Od’s life/’ he cried, what with the wind, and 
surety that the dead man’s ghost walks cold among us, we 
need strong liquor. Wayne of Marsh, a bumper with you.” 

The RatclifFes, following his lead, moved to the table and 
filled a brimming cup for each one of their guests. And after 
that they poured measures for themselves; and Janet, listening 
from the little room behind to all that passed, knew that the 
time had come for Waynes or RatclifFes to go under once for 
all. The instincts of her fighting fathers rose in her ; she felt 
her dagger-edge, there in the darkness of her prison, and 
yearned to take her part in what was next to chance. But 
little Mistress Wayne, affrighted by she knew not what, shrank 
back into the window-niche and prayed. 

‘‘Drink, Waynes!” cried Red RatclifFe on the sudden. 
“In the name of the dead man, peace between Wayne and 
RatclifFe.” 

The Waynes lifted their goblets high, and ran headlong 
forward, and dashed them in the faces of the RatclifFes while 
yet their blades were only half free of the scabbards. 

“Wayne and the Dog ! ” the cry rang out, and before the 
red-heads could wipe the wine-stains and the blood from mouth 
and eyes, the Waynes were on them. 

The fight seemed long to Janet, fingering her dagger and 
longing for a share in it ; but it was swift as the moor-wind 
screaming round the house of Wildwater. The wind was a 
tempest now ; yet its voice was drowned in the blustering yell 
of “Wayne! Wayne and the Dog!” — the cry that had 
driven the RatclifFes from many a well-fought field. 

They had no chance. Surprised, outwitted, blinded by the 
wine-cups, they struck at random. But the Waynes aimed 
true and hard. One by one the RatclifFes dropped, and still 
Shameless Wayne lifted the feud-cry of his house. Neither 
courteous nor soft of heart was Wayne of Marsh this night — 
nor would be till the work was done. 

Ten of the foe were down, and the score and five still left 
were fighting with their backs against the wall. A lad’s laugh 
broke now and then across the groans, the feud-cries, the hiss 
of leaping steel ; for GrifF was young to battle, and the two 
lives he had claimed had maddened him. Shameless Wayne 
said naught at all; but kill was graven on his face. 

The din of battle had wakened even the dead, it seemed ; 


THE LEAN MAN FORGOT THE FEUD 355 

for on a sudden the Lean Man sat him upright on the bier and 
watched the fight. A flame was in his eyes, and with one 
shaking hand he strove to wrench the jaw-cloth loose, and 
could not. His lips moved with a voiceless cry, as if he 
would fain have cheered his folk to the attack ; but speech and 
body-strength had failed, and only the brain, the quick, 
scheming brain, was live in him. Yet none marked his 
agony, none moved to unwrap the grave-cloth from his jaws. 

The RatclifFes, desperate now, made a last sudden effort 
just as the Waynes were surest of their victory. With one 
deep-throated yell they leaped to the attack, and drove the foe 
back with a rush, and rained in their blows as only men do 
when the grave is hungry for them. Two of the long Waynes 
of Cranshaw dropped, and one of the Hill House men. It 
seemed the Wildwater folk might conquer yet by very fury 
of the forlorn hope they were leading. 

“ A Ratcliffe ! A Ratcliffe ! ” roared the on-sweeping band. 

‘‘ Wayne and the Dog ! ” came the answer — but feebler now 
and less assured, for three more Waynes were lying face to 
the ceiling-timbers. 

And then a dread thing chanced. For Mistress Wayne, 
shrinking close into the window-niche and watching the red 
pathway of the fight, heard a new note cleave through the up- 
roar. The wind was raving overhead ; the cries were loud as 
ever; but deeper than them all was the low whine that 
sounded from the courtyard door. She saw no sword-play 
now, no forward leap or downward crash of men ; her gaze 
was rooted trance-like on the door, and round about her 
played an ice-cold wind. 

Up the long chamber, through the reeking press, a brown and 
shaggy-coated beast stepped softly — stepped till he reached the 
Lean Man’s bier. But only Mistress Wayne had marked his 
passing. 

She saw the Lean Man cease struggling with the jaw-cloth 
— saw him turn a haunted face toward the left hand of the 
bier, while terror glazed his eyes — saw the rough-coated hound 
set back his shadowy haunches for the spring, and leap, and 
clutch the Lean Man by the throat. 

‘‘ God’s pity, ’tis the Dog — ’tis Barguest ! ” cried Mistress 
Wayne. 

Her voice, sharp-edged with agony, struck like a sword- 


356 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


thrust into the fight. The RatclifFes were sweeping all before 
them ; but they stopped for one half moment. Barguest had 
carried disaster to them always ; there was not one of them 
but dreaded the Brown Hound ; and the woman’s cry that he 
was in the room here plucked all the vigour from their sword- 
arms. The battle was lost and won in that half-moment’s 
pause ; for what had daunted the Red Folk had put fresh 
heart into the Waynes and driven them to the onset with re- 
sistless fury. 

It was a carnage then. Five RatclifFes dropped at the first 
shock, ten at the next onslaught. The rest fled headlong to- 
ward the great main door, and tried to open it ; but Red Rat- 
clifFe had made the bolts too sure, and they were caught in 
their own trap. Snarling, they turned at bay, and showed a 
serried line of faces, lean, vindictive, bright-eyed as the 
weasel’s whom tradition named their ancestor. Those who 
fell writhed upward from the floor and tried to drive their 
blades home; and the Waynes, with low, hoarse cries, put 
each a foot on the skulls of the fallen, and fought on in this 
wise least the dying, weasel-like to the end, should prove twice 
as dangerous as those whose limbs were whole. 

Janet had followed the battle as best she could. She had 
heard the feud-calls swell, and weaken, and grow loud again ; 
had heard Mistress Wayne’s shrill cry of Barguest. And then 
her lover’s voice rose swift in victory above the growling hum 
of RatclifFe ! A RatclifFe ! ” And she knew that Wayne of 
Marsh had wiped his shame clean out at last. 

Red Ratcliffe and two others were all who stood upright 
now, and they were fighting behind a bank of fallen comrades. 

‘‘ Quarter ! ” gasped Ratcliffe, full of a fresh stratagem. 

‘‘Not again,” laughed Wayne. “We courteous fools are 
out of mood to-night. Red RatclifFe.” 

“ Quarter ! We’re defenceless, Wayne. Would’st butcher 
us ? ” 

“Ay, would I,” answered Wayne of Marsh, and cut at 
RatclifFe’s head-guard, and grazed his scalp as his own blade 
slid down the other’s steel. 

“Thou’st made a priest of him ! ” roared GrifF, beside him- 
self with the reek of slaughter. “ Look at his bloody tonsure, 
Ned.” 

Red RatclifFe flung his sword in the lad’s face, and picked 


THE LEAN MAN FORGOT THE FEUD 357 

up a dying RatclifFe in his arms. Fury lent sinew to despair; 
a moment he staggered under the body, then hurled it full at 
Shameless Wayne and drove him blundering half across the 
floor. And then he raced down the pathway he had made, 
and gained the hinder door, forgotten until now, and clashed 
it to behind him. 

The passage was pitch-dark, with a sharp turn and three 
unlooked-for steps half down it ; and his first thought was to 
pick olF the Waynes who followed as they stumbled in the 
darkness, and afterward to make good his escape in such 
rough-ready fashion as the ensuing uproar might suggest. He 
halted awhile, waiting their coming, while his breath came 
and went in hard-won sobs; then, as his brain cooled, he be- 
thought him of the narrow, winding passage that branched ofF 
from the one in which he stood and led at one end to a rarely 
opened door that backed the orchard, at the other to the room 
where his Cousin Janet lay. 

Behind him he could hear the Waynes calling one to an- 
other as they blundered out in search of him ; some went up 
the main stairway ; others moved cautiously toward him and 
called to their fellows in hall to bring them candles. He 
waited for no more, but crept down the narrowed passage, 
and felt for the door, and had his hand already on the hasp 
when he remembered Janet. It was his last chance of safety, 
this, he knew ; but, like the greybeard who had schemed his 
last behind in hall there, he had a desperate courage of his 
own, and a like remorselessness. Was he to leave Wayne of 
Marsh to make merry with the maid for whom he had hun- 
gered these twelve months past ? Nay, for she should share 
his flight; and Wayne should find the dregs of victory less 
welcome than he looked for. 

His pursuers were moving all about the house ; but their 
thoughts were all of the main doors and plainer ways of 
escape, and in their hurry they neglected the narrow belt of 
darkness that marked the opening of the side-passage. Red 
RatclifFe laughed softly to himself as he ran to Janet’s room ; 
for there was time, and he could yet plant a mortal thrust in 
Wayne of Marsh. 

Janet, with the ring of Wayne’s last triumph-shout in her 
ears, heard steps without her door, and cried, half between 
tears and laughter, that Ned had come to free her — Ned, who 


358 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


had fought a righteous quarrel to the last bitter end ; Ned, 
who was her master, and the master of her enemies. Ah, 
God ! If he had not saved her from Red Ratcliffe ! 

The key was turned softly in the lock — too softly, she 
thought, for an impetuous lover. She put her hands out, felt 
them prisoned, and with a Thank Our Lady, Ned, thou’rt 
safe ! ’’ she yielded herself to a hot embrace. 

“ Ned, take me to the light ! I want to see thy face. Is 
there blood on thee, dear lad ? Nay, I care not, so it be not 
thine own.” 

Red RatclifFe’s voice came to her through the darkness. 
‘‘ Ay, there’s blood on me, cousin — Wayne blood, that it shall 
be thy work to cleanse. Meanwhile, the hunt is up — Canst 
not hear them running hot-foot up and down the house ? 
Come with me, girl, or Pll set thumb and finger to thy throat 
and drop thee where thou stand’st.” 

She was helpless in his grasp. Bewildered, not knowing 
where Ned was, nor why Red RatclifFe was here unharmed, 
she let herself be carried down the passage, far as the low 
door that creaked and groaned as RatclifFe opened it. The 
cold wind blew on her from without, and on the sudden her 
senses cleared. This fool whose love she had laughed at thrice 
a day had trapped her after all. A few more strides, and they 
would be free of the moor, and Wayne might seek till morn- 
ing light and never find her. A few more strides, and it 
would matter little that Wayne of Marsh had fought his way 
to the very threshold of possession. 

The dawn was yet far ofF, and the moon was hid, or its 
light might have shown Red RatclifFe the smile that played 
about his cousin’s face, as her hand slipped to her breast and 
returned. 

‘‘ I’ll come with thee, cousin, never fear,” she whispered 
softly, and lifted Wayne’s dagger in the gloom. 

‘‘ Lights ! Where are your lights, ye fools ? ” came 
Wayne’s voice from near at hand. ’Twill be gall and mad- 
ness to me if this worst ruffian of the band escape.” 

There’s a darksome passage here. Does it lead to a secret 
way, think ye ? ” answered Rolf Wayne of Cranshaw. 

Likely ; the wind blows shrewdly down it. Quick with 
the candles there ! And keep your blades drawn, for by the 
Dog I’ll kill the one who lets Red RatclifFe through.” 


THE LEAN MAN FORGOT THE FEUD 359 


They gained the open door, and on the threshold Janet 
Ratcliffe stood, with lips half-parted in a smile, and in her eyes 
the first tremulous self-loathing that comes to women after 
they have done man’s work. 

“ Do ye seek Red RatclifFe, sirs ? ” she asked. 

Ay, show him me — show him me, I say ! ” roared Shame- 
less Wayne, too hot for any tenderness toward his mis- 
tress. 

‘‘ He is beside me here — Nay, sheathe your swords ; he 
asks no further service of you.” 

All crowded round, and Wayne of Marsh shaded his can- 
dle with one hand and held it low to the face of him who lay 
close without the door. 

Through the heart,” he muttered ; to think the lass 
should rob me. — Nay, then, the stroke was good; need I 
grudge it her ? ” 

An arm was laid on his. Ned, I am sick ; take me out 
of sight of all these men,” said Janet. 

One last look he gave at Red Ratcliffe. ‘‘ All — all — dead 
Wayne of Marsh need never cry again for vengeance,” he 
muttered. 

He put an arm about the girl, and led her down the passage, 
through the knot of kinsmen who were pressing forward for a 
sight of Red Ratcliffe’s body, and through the scattered 
Waynes who still were searching for the runaway, not know- 
ing he was dead. These last turned wonderingly at seeing 
Ned no longer in pursuit, and stopped to wipe the sweat of 
battle from their faces. 

‘‘ Hast overtaken him, Ned ? ” they asked. 

‘‘ Ay, his sleep is sound,” answered Shameless Wayne. — 

Get ye across to Cranshaw, friends, and tell my sister that 
her goodman and myself are safe. And tell her — that I’ve 
kept the oath she wots of.” 

They glanced once at the face of Ned’s companion, proud 
yet for all its weariness ; and then they got them out into the 
courtyard. And after Ned had watched them go, he turned to 
find Janet leaning faint against the wall. 

He touched her on the shoulder. Courage, lass,” he mut- 
tered roughly. 

Comfort he would have given her, such comfort as a man 
at such a time may give the maid who loves him ; but he dared 


360 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


not let his heart go out to her as yet, for there was that in the 
wide hall to right of them which overmastered love. 

She straightened herself at his touch. Ned,” she cried 
with sudden fierceness, ’twas for thee I killed him 5 he meant 
to take my right in thee.” 

I know, lass, I know. But would God I had saved thee 
the stroke.” , 

‘‘ Leave me awhile,” she whispered, after a silence. “ I must 
go to the moor — the moor is big, and friendly, and it will un- 
derstand.” 

He knew her better than to thwart her mood at such a time, 
and let her go ; but while she was crossing to the door, a frail 
little woman came out from the hall and moved to meet 
them. 

What, bairn ! ” said Wayne gently. ‘‘ We’ve fought our 
troubles through together, thou and I ; and there’ll be none 
can break our friendship now, I warrant.” 

‘‘ Blood, blood — see how it drips — oh, hurry, hurry ! The 
stain can never be washed out if once it reaches Wayne of 
Marsh — he lies under the vault-stone yonder — he stares at me 
with cruel, unrelenting eyes.” 

And Wayne knew that she had fallen back to the witless- 
ness of that long-buried night when he had watched his cousin 
fight above the vault-stone. The crash of blows, the blood- 
shed and the tumult, had touched the hidden spring in her and 
made her one again with those piteous-happy folk whom 
Marshcotes gossips called the fairy-kist. 

A great awe fell upon him as he watched the milk-soft face 
under its loosened cloud of hair, as he hearkened over and 
over to the happenings of a night that was scarce less terrible 
than this. That was the night which had re-opened the old 
feud of Wayne and RatclifFe but this had killed it once for all. 

Will my lover ever come, think’st thou ? ” said Mistress 
Wayne. “ The post-chaise has been waiting long — the horses 
fret — the postillion says we shall never gain Saxilton unless 
Dick RatclifFe hastens.” She paused, and her mind seemed 
for a space to grapple with the present. Didst see Barguest 
steal into the hall ? ” she whispered. He came and couched 
at the bier-side — and then he sprang — come see the teeth- 
marks in the Lean Man’s throat.” 

She beckoned them so imperiously that they were drawn 


THE LEAN MAN FORGOT THE FEUD 361 


against their will into the reeking chamber, and between the 
still heaps of the slain, and up to the bier whereon Nicholas 
RatclifFe lay with death stamped livid on his face. Quietly as 
if it were a usual office, the little woman turned down the 
shroud and pointed to the sinewy throat ; and Janet’s eyes 
met Wayne’s across the body of their foe, while they 
whispered one to the other that Mistress Wayne saw some- 
thing here which was denied to any save the fairy-kist. 

Wayne of Cranshaw came striding into hall, and after him 
Griff and his brothers, with a press of Hill House folk behind. 
But Rolf silenced them when he saw the figures by the bier, 
and led them quiet out into the night. 

Best leave them to it,” he muttered to a kinsman. ’Tis 
an ill knot to unravel, and God knows how ’twill fare with 
yond sad pair of lovers.” 

They stayed there for awhile, Wayne and Janet. The 
battle-heat went from him ; passion was stilled ; he stood and 
went over, one by one, the turmoils that were past — stood, and 
watched the hate of feud shrink, mean and shamed, into the 
darkness that had bred it — stood, and wondered to what bitter 
harvesting the aftermath of feud must come. 

And Janet watched him, with the dead man’s bulk between 
them — watched him, and sought for a shaft of hope to cross 
the gloomy hardness of his face. 

Shameless Wayne lifted his head by and by and moved to 
the door to rid him of the spell. Come where the wind 
blows cool, girl. There’s a taint in every breath we draw,” 
he cried. 

In silence she followed him to the threshold of the great 
main floor and looked with him across the lone reaches of the 
wilderness. Dark, wide and wet it stretched. The rains 
seethed earthward from a shrouded sky. There was no wail 
of moor-birds, no voice save the sob of the failing wind among 
the ling. 

‘‘ Is this our wedding-cheer ? ” said Janet, meeting his 
glance at last. And those in hall there — are they the bridal- 
guests ? ” 

Wayne answered nothing for a space. And then he gave a 
cry, and took her to him, so close he seemed to dare each 
whispering ghost of feud to snatch her from him. 

“We never sought the thing that’s ended yonder,” he 


362 


SHAMELESS WAYNE 


whispered hoarsely. ‘‘We’ll shut it out — we’ll — Janet, hast 
no word for me ? ” 

But the Lean Man, quiet on the bier where he had gibed at 
death, paid little heed to them. The feud was stanched be- 
tween Wayne and Ratcliffe ; yet he had never a word to say, 
of protest or of sorrow. The feud was stanched ; yet Mis- 
tress Wayne, while she plucked at the dead man’s shroud as 
if to claim his notice, was sobbing piteously. 

“ My lover waits me at the kirkyard gate,” she faltered ; 
“ but I dare not pass the vault-stone. Sir, it drips crimson as 
the sun that lately set behind Wildwater Pool. And hark ! 
There’s Barguest whining down the wind.” 

The rain still fell without. The clouds came thickening 
up above the house of Wildwater. And far off across the 
moor a whining, comfortless and long-drawn-out, fluttered on 
the brink of silence. 


THE END 



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